


Season of Mists

by lookninjas



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Doctor Who References, Multi, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Post-Series 03: Children of Earth (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: Two years after the 456, after the death of Ianto Jones and the dissolution of Torchwood, Gwen Williams wakes up from familiar nightmares to a phone call from Andy Davidson.  What follows will turn everything she knows upside-down all over again.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Absent Friends

**Author's Note:**

> From the original notes: "Although this story references (and borrows a character from) Neil Gaiman's the Sandman, you don't need to be at all familiar with Sandman canon to understand the story. It would help, however, to have seen Dr. Who's The Sound of Drums and Last of the Time Lords.
> 
> This story was originally written for the first Torchwood Big Bang, and an earlier draft has been posted to this journal. So if the story looks familiar to you, that's why.
> 
> Much thanks to ambiguous_opal, who talked me through the first draft (so long ago!); kel_riley, who beta'd the final version; and tearoseandhoney, who stuck it out with me through three drafts and what must be about a year's worth of work by now. This fic would not exist without the three of you, and that's just facts."
> 
> I'd also like to note that when I originally posted this fic on LiveJournal, I referred to it as a "CoE fixit." But it's not, really. More that in exploring what it might mean to bring a character back to life, I stumbled into a story that was interesting enough to keep going, even as it got darker and darker around me. Because it is a very dark fic. I like to think it's hopeful, in the end, but it's dark. 
> 
> Title comes from Hob Gadling's toast in Sandman #22: "Here's to absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the Devil His due."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gwen has a familiar Dream, absent friends come together again, a sinister Project is revealed, and Torchwood comes back to life.

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: Initial Findings
> 
> Subject is adult male, approximately 26 years of age. Height 6’1”, weight 83 kg. Non-smoker. Blood type AB positive. Physical condition is good, excepting some slight damage from initial acquisition. Initial DNA results suggest Subject is fully human with no traces of alien genetic contamination. Full DNA profile pending release of trained medical staff member from observation following injury. [See File: ST 0963, Report: INCIDENT REPORT 9/10]. Background data being compiled.
> 
> Witness statements show evidence of two presumed resurrection events. The first death occurred as result of apparent viral infection, flu strain TH-456. Time from initial infection to actual death was approximately ten minutes. [Sole surviving witness could not be safely contacted in order to confirm this; see File: JH 7172, Report: Subject Status.] Medical personnel arrived four hours later, and, finding neither pulse nor respiration, declared Subject dead. Subject taken to temporary mortuary facilities.
> 
> First presumed resurrection event was reported approximately seven hours after initial time of death. Sole witness was military personnel, assigned to guard the Subject and others killed by flu strain TH-456. Witness has no medical training. Witness statement indicates no gradual resumption of life -- Subject “just sat up,” at which point the witness shot him in the chest [See File: IJ 3927, Report: Witness Statement R1]. Medical personnel summoned to the scene found no pulse or respirations, and declared Subject dead.
> 
> After initial witness statement, Subject was removed from the mortuary facilities, and notification was sent to the Project's main Facility. Transport team was assembled, and proceeded immediately to Subject's location in order to collect the Subject.
> 
> Second presumed resurrection event was observed two hours after second presumed death. As the transport team was still en route, the process was not officially observed, although trained medical personnel were present to witness and record brief observations. Unlike the report given for the first presumed resurrection event, the second was apparently more gradual, less sudden. [Note: It is possible that both resurrection events followed the same pattern, and that the initial witness simply did not note this.] The wound was observed to close over; next, warmth and color returned to the skin, indicating a rise in blood pressure. Pulse and respiration both resumed, faint but noticeable. Eight minutes after the resurrection process began, Subject opened his eyes and appeared to be conscious. [See File: IJ 3927, Report: Witness Statement R2.] Medical personnel present at the time spoke to Subject, ascertained that he was conscious and aware, then administered 380 mg. thiopental to induce brief sedation, followed by 10 mg haloperidol, so that Subject would be docile upon resumption of consciousness. A second dose was administered when the first was deemed insufficient, approximately forty-five minutes after initial dose.
> 
> Transport team arrived approximately four hours after the second presumed resurrection event. Subject was conscious but agitated, perhaps as a consequence of sedation. Subject spoke to transport team, but appeared disoriented. This conversation was recorded by a member of the transport team, and has been included in the Subject's file. [See File: IJ 3927, Report: Initial Acquisition (Transcript)]. Transport team administered 300 mg thiopental; Subject again lost consciousness, and was transferred from holding facility to vehicle. 5 mg haloperidol was administered once Subject was in the vehicle, to ensure that the Subject would be docile whilst en route.
> 
> Despite the amount of sedation administered in a relatively short time, Subject again became agitated whilst en route to Facility, and force was required to subdue the Subject. A medical staff member travelling with Subject sustained a human bite wound, requiring placement in observation until such time as the effects of the Subject's bite are determined [See File: ST 0963, Report: INCIDENT REPORT 9/10]. Given proximity to Project's main Facility, and Subject's apparent resistance to the sedatives on hand, no further sedation was administered until Subject was inside Facility. At this point, Facility personnel administered 80 mg ketamine plus 4 mg midazolam. Although Subject retained consciousness, all attempts at struggle ceased. Subject was taken to Observation room, and official Observation began.
> 
> Initial data suggests strong resurrection potential. However, given lack of data to confirm clinical death, and no records of either the first or second resurrection events, this has yet to be proven. Testing to begin shortly.

*

_They stood, the four of them, guns still smoking, and watched the girl fall, riddled with bullets. Ianto sank to his knees beside her, sobbing and keening, now reaching out to the girl, now looking back at the Cyberman, as if he couldn’t tell which was the woman he’d loved. Feeling sick, Gwen lowered her gun. Beside her, Tosh and Owen did likewise. She looked at Jack, expecting him to do the same, but he didn’t. Instead, he took careful aim, and fired, and Ianto’s head exploded._

_Then Jack turned, and smiled at her. “You should have stood by him, Gwen,” he said._

_She turned, and ran, back through the Hub’s lower levels and up a flight of stairs, only to find herself running through a filthy house, surrounded by people laughing at her. A man pushed her forward through a sheet of dingy plastic, and there was Ianto, gagged and bound, a man with a meat cleaver standing behind him. “Time to be bled,” the man said, and drew the blade across Ianto’s throat with practiced ease. Ianto let out a choking sound, and then the building started to shake, a low rumbling._

_Gwen threw her arms over her face to protect herself, and when she removed them, she was staring at a heap of rubble. A hand was protruding from the debris -- Ianto’s hand, and it was ice-cold when she touched it. She clutched at it, willing it to be warm, to move, but nothing happened._

_Then Jack was sitting behind her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, his cheek pressed to her hair. Ianto was laying underneath the red blankets, his tie still perfectly knotted, the jagged cut on his cheek showing almost black against his pale, gray-tinged skin. “We did this, Gwen,” Jack said, and she couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying. “This is our fault.”_

_She turned to argue, but Jack was already gone. It was just Ianto, standing there. He stared at her, eyes pleading, reached out his hand, and she wanted to reach back, but she couldn’t move, and she wanted to speak, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a high-pitched wailing, and Ianto started to bleed from his eyes and his mouth and his ears, and she couldn’t stop, and--_

_And then she was alone, standing in a corridor, metal walls, metal floor, a sound nearby like an engine. There was a flash of movement at the corner of her vision -- white fabric, robes maybe? But when she spun, nothing but metal walls. Metal floor. The sound of an engine. Then she heard Ianto, heard him screaming, and she took off at a dead run--_

Gwen snapped awake with a gasp, sweat-drenched, shaking. Rhys snuffled next to her, rolling over, one big hand landing awkwardly on her thigh. "All right, love?" he mumbled, not really awake.

"Yeah," Gwen murmured, even though her heart was racing and she was starting to shiver as the sweat dried on her skin. "Go back to sleep."

He mumbled something, maybe talking to her, maybe already fast asleep again, and rolled away. Seconds later, he was snoring.

Gwen sat up fully, wrapping her arms around her knees. Funny how easy it still was to lie to Rhys, even with Torchwood gone and no real reason for it anymore. Funny in a way that really wasn't funny at all. But was it lying, though? Just a bad dream. She'd had them with Owen and Tosh; she'd even seen Suzie calling out to her from the darkness once or twice.

But no, she wasn't that good a liar. Not to herself, anyway.

Yes, there had been bad dreams when Owen and Tosh died, strange jumbled things involving blood and screaming that never made much sense, terrifying and sad as they'd been. There'd been nights she'd barely slept. But it had passed, as the weeks shaded into months and her life took on a new routine, one perhaps even more frantic than it had been before, but a routine all the same. Months, not years. Not like this.

Two years gone, and Ianto was still dying in her dreams; not every night, or even every week, but with a numbing sort of regularity. The dreams shifted, now a bit shorter, now a bit longer, but it was only variations on a theme. The heart of it remained the same -- that corner-of-the-eye sense of someone watching, just out of view; the metal hallways and thrumming engine, familiar yet unplaceable; and Ianto dying, not once, but over and over again. Gwen had never gone in much for interpreting her dreams -- she lumped it in with things like tarot cards, palmistry and horoscopes, those little rituals that she nearly wanted to believe in but could never quite take on faith -- but on nights like this, awake in the dark of the morning and still shaking with adrenaline from running down those metal corridors, she couldn't help but feel it all had to _mean_ something. Two years gone, and the dreams kept coming. Surely there was something to it.

Only it wasn't the sort of thing she felt she could explain. Rhys, bless him, was rock steady to a fault. Every time she tried to tell him about her dreams, about this strange feeling that something was about to happen, about to break free, he'd get those sad eyes and kiss her forehead and say something about time and healing. At best, he'd suggest she have a talk with Martha, see about getting seconded to UNIT, getting a bit of her life back. He'd tell her that Edward was a big lad now, that they'd find someone to watch him during the day, that he'd take leave from Harwood's if she only said she wanted it. But she didn't feel she could work with UNIT, all black uniforms and crisp salutes and orders, orders, all the time. Not after Torchwood. Not after Jack.

She couldn't talk to Martha, either, much as she felt she should be able to. Martha had been very dear after everything, very supportive, but also very busy. She had her husband and her life, always rushing about. Then too, Martha had only been there briefly, and not when they needed her most. She was part of Jack's life, and Gwen loved her for that, but she wasn't _Torchwood_.

Torchwood was what Gwen needed most. She needed the Hub, the dampness of the air, the hum of the computers, the rustle and creak of Myfanwy settling in her perch. She needed Tosh's small, sympathetic smile; she needed Owen's barbs to snap her out of herself and back to life; she needed Jack watching from on high with his arms folded and his jaw set. She needed Ianto, with his suits and his private smirks and his quiet way of just being there, waiting, until she reached for him.

She needed Ianto, and he was gone.

Gwen sighed. If there was anything she _didn't_ need, it was more time spent brooding on things she'd lost and couldn't get back. Too much more of this, and she'd have to start standing on rooftops in some big swishy coat. Which meant she'd have to buy a coat, first off, because her old black leather wasn't nearly dramatic enough, and then the wind would just blow her hair all over her face unless she pulled it back (and it never stayed), and really, she was far too Welsh to be properly Byronic. It wouldn't suit.

She'd just check on Edward, then, make sure he was still asleep, and then maybe get a glass of water or a cup of tea, pull out the laptop, go through some of the CCTV feeds she was still able to access thanks to Ianto's surprisingly clever hacking, or check up on the forum chatter, those few places on the internet where the signal-to-noise ratio wasn't quite so dismal, see if there was anything interesting happening, if Jack hadn't perhaps decided to finally make his grand re-entrance--

A noise broke the silence, and she startled, still on edge from her dreams, her memories. But it was only her phone, vibrating away on the bedside table.

Gwen reached for it, her hand trembling. No one called her at this time of the night, not anymore, and she couldn't help the hope whispering within her, that maybe this time, maybe finally... She glanced at the screen, hoping to see “Call incoming: Harkness” written there. But it wasn’t Jack. It was Andy.

For a moment, she was tempted to let it click over to voicemail. But Andy hardly called her at all these days, and never this late, and if he was calling her now, that had to mean something. She flipped the phone open and tucked it between her shoulder and her ear, slipping out of bed as she did so. Rhys let out another snort, rolling over with his hand falling onto the mattress where she'd just been, but he didn't wake up.

“Andy?” Gwen asked, keeping her voice at a whisper. “What is it? Is something the matter?”

“It’s -- There's... there's a man here, Gwen. Says he's come to see you.”

Gwen’s heart raced, her stomach lurching. “What?” She padded into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. “Who? It's not Jack, is it?”

“He says he needs Torchwood. I think... I think you'd better just come talk to him, yeah?”

She'd never been that great at reading Andy's moods and changes, but there was fear in his voice just now -- other things as well, but it was the fear she could pick up on, so it was the fear she responded to. “Andy. Listen to me. If anyone's threatened to hurt you--”

“I'll just keep him here at the station, then. See you in a few." Before Gwen could do more than open her mouth, not having even really thought of what her reply would be, the line went dead.

"Shit," Gwen said, snapping her phone shut and taking a deep breath. If Andy was in trouble, if his being involved with Torchwood had finally come back to haunt him... She took another deep breath and hurried back into the bedroom, making for the closet.

She was hoping to get dressed and get out without disturbing Rhys, but he was already sitting up in bed, blankets bunched around his legs. Hadn't been so asleep after all, then. “Who was that?” he demanded. “Is something wrong?”

The smile still came so easily, same as leaning in and kissing him on the cheek, all those small reassurances she’d used so often in the old days. “Nothing, sweetheart,” she said. “Andy just called -- needs me to look at something. I’ll be back before breakfast.”

Rhys squinted at the clock, then turned back to her. He didn't look particularly reassured. “What’s he need you to look at at three in the morning, then? And why isn’t he phoning UNIT? I thought this was their jurisdiction now.”

Gwen cupped her husband’s cheek in her hand, looked at him for a long while, and realized there was nothing for it but the truth. “There's someone at the station, asking for me. Asking for Torchwood.”

“Bloody Torchwood,” Rhys murmured, and Gwen kissed him again before turning away to pull on her clothes. “And that’s all he said? Who d’you reckon it is, then? Harkness come back or something?”

Gwen pulled her jeans on; she still had to suck in a bit to button them. “I don’t think so,” she said, finally, grabbing a pair of trainers from the back of the closet. “I think if it were Jack, Andy would have told me. It’s someone else.”

“D’you want me to come with you? I mean, right, so I’m not Torchwood exactly, but--”

She slipped her shoulder holster on, checked her gun, then threw a jacket on over the top to hide it. “We’d have to wake Edward, and then there’s everything to get packed up-- the pram and the carseat and bottles and nappies and--"

“Fair enough, then, fair enough.” When she turned around, Rhys was standing behind her, looking at her with worry in his eyes. “Back before breakfast, you said?”

She kissed him one last time. “Need me to pick anything up while I’m out?”

He hugged her close. “Get out, you daft cow. The sooner you get this sorted, the sooner you’re back home. And mind you be careful.”

Gwen snatched up her phone and stowed it in her jeans pocket. “I always am,” she said, and hurried out the door.

It had been a long time since she’d done this, racing out of her house in the early morning hours, the sky still dark and cold. As she started the car, and pulled out of the driveway, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit more alive, a little bit more herself. She’d missed this. And yet, at the same time, she was worried. Because Andy hadn’t said who it was, and therefore it wasn't Jack. Because Andy had sounded so scared. Because she knew, somehow, that something was coming. She _knew_ it.

“It’s nothing,” she told herself, firmly, scanning her rearview mirror to see if there were any headlights behind her. Nothing there. “Some little old lady seeing blowfish or something. Nothing to worry about."

All the same, though. All the same.

*

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: Initial Test
> 
> Method of initial death was lethal injection, similar to Chapman’s protocol, but adapted for the situation. 7 g sodium thiopental was administered. Within ten seconds, Subject lost consciousness. It was observed at this point that Subject’s respirations slowed but did not stop. Heart rate was also slowed, but still present. As Subject was restrained, paralytic agents were deemed unnecessary. 150 mEq potassium chloride was then administered. Cardiac arrest occurred approximately seven minutes later; respirations ceased, pulse vanished, and blood pressure plummeted. Electrical activity in the brain continued for another twelve minutes before it, too, ceased. Subject determined clinically dead. Monitoring began.
> 
> Blood pressure began to rise approximately three hours later. Subject’s body temperature began to rise, and color improved. Within twenty minutes, there was a faint, but noticeable pulse. Visible respiration resumed five minutes after. Half an hour after resurrection process began, EKG showed resumption of normal brain function. Subject then opened eyes and proceeded to speak. After some initial questioning, to verify normal cognition, Subject was sedated and returned to observation room.

*

"Thank God you're here," Andy said, meeting her at the door to the station and hurrying her inside. "Driving me mad, he is. Had to lock him up just to stop him--" He stopped mid-stride and mid-word, staring at a man in a red military jacket, who was lounging casually in the entrance to the cells. "But-- you were just--"

Captain John Hart stuck his tongue out, somehow managing to waggle it lewdly while keeping a key balanced on it. Then he snapped his mouth shut with a wink and turned to Gwen. She had to fight very hard not to pull her gun. "Hullo, Gwen," he said, giving her a once-over that made her feel a desperate urge for a shower. "You've filled out some." It was obvious from the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes that he didn't mind the change.

Somehow, Hart was the one person Gwen hadn't expected to see. It wasn't lightening the sense of impending doom any. "Why are you here?" she asked, folding her hands behind her back to stop herself from reaching out to hit him, strangle him, or shoot him. She doubted Andy felt very much like throwing her in a cell.

"Oh, so you do know this nutter," Andy muttered. "That's a relief. Good friend, is he?"

Gwen didn't answer. She wasn't much in the mood for it. "Why are you here?" she asked again.

Hart shrugged. "Didn't know where else to look. No more flashy underground base--" Gwen winced at that, and Hart's expression softened for a split second. "Sorry. I mean, genuinely, I _am_ sorry about the Hub, Gwen. But anyway, it's gone, and I figured if I went to your house, you'd shoot me before I got two words out."

"I might still," Gwen said.

"Oh, yes, very good friends indeed," Andy observed.

"And if you're going to kill me, I'd rather you let me tell you why I'm here first. So I tracked down your old partner here--" he gave Andy an appraising once-over; Andy bristled slightly, "--and asked him, nicely, to give you a call."

Andy huffed. "Don't know as I'd call it 'nice,'" he said. "Friendly, maybe. _Over_ -friendly--"

Gwen didn't let him finish. "So tell me why you're here," she said. "If it's so important."

"See, but the thing is, we're still short one. But he should be here..." Hart glanced down at his wrist strap, pressed a few buttons; not for the first time, Gwen wished she knew what all those things were capable of. "Any moment now."

"Jack," Gwen said, quietly. "You've called Jack."

"Jack," Andy repeated, looking at the both of them with what looked to be equal parts annoyance and alarm. "Jack Harkness? I thought he buggered off into outer space or something, didn't he?"

Hart smiled, holding out his wrist strap to be admired. Andy took a half-step back. "You wouldn't believe all the things I can do with this." His voice was practically purring. "Call Jack, track his movements, block cell phones--"

Gwen folded her arms, eyes narrowing. "Blow up half Cardiff--"

Hart scowled at her. "How many times do I have to tell you that it wasn't my idea? Gray was the one who--"

"That was you?" Andy asked, shifting back a little further.

"Honestly, you might show a little gratitude," Hart said with a sniff. "Yes, I blew up a few things here and there, but if I hadn't, Gray would have found other ways of keeping you out of the action, mostly by killing you all in horrifying ways while Jack watched. Then he would have blown up _all_ of Cardiff, instead of only half. _Then_ he'd have buried Jack alive. So really, I saved you."

"What about Tosh?" Gwen snapped. "What about Owen?"

"I did what I could under the circumstances," Hart said again, slowing down his words as though speaking to a dull child. "It wasn't perfect, and I admit that, but--"

"Enough."

Gwen's heart stopped for a moment, before picking back up in a hurry, and she spun 'round to see Captain Jack Harkness, RAF coat and all, standing just behind her.

"Jack," she said. There wasn't anything else to say.

"Gwen." It didn't look as though time had healed anything, not for him -- his eyes were still dark, his expression still weary. He stared down at her for a moment, before looking back up at Hart. "John. What's this all about?"

Hart had straightened, almost like a soldier come suddenly face-to-face with his commanding officer. "I'll show you," he said, pulling nervously at the hem of his coat. "Just let me grab my bag--" He started for a nearby desk, only to be stopped by Andy.

"I'll grab your bag," Andy said, and was reaching out for it -- a grubby military rucksack, mostly empty -- when Jack took it from his hands.

" _I'll_ take the bag," Jack said, slinging it up on his shoulders. "He's fond of explosives."

"Yeah, so they tell me," Andy said. The silence that followed was uncomfortable to say the least. Andy cleared his throat. "Right. There's a conference room, just to the left there--"

"Lead on," Jack said. Andy gave him a strange look, then sighed, shook his head, and strode off without waiting for anyone to follow him.

Gwen found herself matching strides with Jack. He didn't look at her. "You never rebuilt," he said, quietly.

There were a lot of things Gwen could have said at that moment, but she bit her tongue. There was no point telling Jack about all the times she'd stood there, amongst the rubble, trying and failing to imagine a new Torchwood built on top of all the old memories. All the old ghosts. "No," she said. "I didn't."

"Gwen." Jack glanced down at her then, just for a moment, and as angry as she still was, she knew it would pass. He'd lost so much, more than she'd ever really know. "I'm sorry."

She reached out and squeezed his hand, then let it drop again. "I know," she said.

Andy led them into an empty conference room, flicking the lights on as they entered. There was a map of Cardiff pinned up on the wall, with red and yellow thumbtacks indicating some sort of pattern. The whiteboard still bore notes from an investigation: "Centered around Splott," and "B&E" and "145 Pearl St."

Hart shut the door and drew all the shades, then pressed a few buttons on his wrist strap. "Disabling all those pesky cameras," he said, catching Jack's look. "Figure since I'm here with a pair of notorious terrorists and one of the central figures in a riot -- not bad, by the way--" Andy looked a little pleased at the notice. "Anyway, I'd rather not have this on record. May I?" He held his hand out, and after a moment, Jack handed over the rucksack. "Thank you, Jack." Hart set the bag on the table, rooting through it. "You've no idea who I had to sleep with to get my hands on this," he added, pulling out a stack of files. "Seriously classified, and the security system -- I tried getting in myself, but that ended rather badly. It did, however, help me find my man on the inside; he managed to pull all this together. I could have tried coming without, I guess, but I doubt you'd've taken my word for it, after... Anyway, some things you can't just say. Some things have to be seen to be believed." He produced a gleaming laptop from the bag, wholly incongruous, considering, and set about plugging it in.

"You're babbling," Jack said, but he sounded interested despite himself. "Get to the point."

"Have a look at those," Hart replied, gesturing absently to the files as he booted up the computer. "One for each of you. Granted, they don't mean much without... But we'll get to that. Start with the files."

Andy passed them around; Gwen found herself strangely reluctant to open hers. But she took a deep breath and pulled out the first sheaf of papers.

 _Subject IJ 3927... Height 6'1"... DNA results suggest Subject is fully human with no traces of alien... evidence of two presumed resurrection events..._ She blinked at that, re-read it. "Resurrection events?" she asked, looking around the room. Jack had spread his file out over the table and was leaning over it -- she couldn't see his face.

Andy was staring at the floor by Gwen's feet. "Fucking hell," he murmured, crouching down. Shifting her file out of the way, Gwen realized that she'd dropped something; a photograph. Andy touched the edge, turning it so he could see, but he didn't pick it up. His hand shook a little, and he'd gone white as a sheet.

Gwen knelt down next to him, craning her neck so she could look at the photo properly. When she realized what it was -- who it was -- her breath caught in her throat.

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Jack's voice was ragged.

"No joke." When Gwen finally managed to look up at Hart, he was leaning against the table with his arms folded, his face unaccountably grim. "No lies. No tricks. No traps." He pushed up the sleeve on his jacket, and Gwen thought she could see the scars left there from when he'd ripped off his own skin. "No bombs, and no tracking devices. Just those files, and this." He gestured towards the computer.

Gwen left the picture where it had fallen, and pushed herself up to her feet. Her legs wobbled a bit as she walked towards the computer, and she was grateful when Andy hurried to stand with her, more grateful when Jack finally joined them, a tall, broad shadow at her back. "I should warn you," Hart said, and then stopped. His eyes fell on Gwen. "It's not... it's not easy to watch."

She nodded, just the once, and he reached over, pressed a few keys, and a video popped up and began playing.

It was a medical-looking room, like a hospital or something, and there was a man laying on a table, dressed in nothing but a paper examination gown. IV lines came out of both arms, and a spider web of electrodes connected him to banks of machinery. The man’s wrists, elbows, waist, and right leg were pinned down with restraints. At first, Gwen couldn’t see why they hadn’t done the other leg as well, but then she realized that it was bent at such a grotesque angle that there was no need. As the camera got closer to the man’s leg, she could see how badly swollen it was, bruised until it was nearly black. “Subject I-J-3-9-2-7,” someone said, the voice coming from off camera. “Accelerated Healing Response. Test number 17.”

A little grey-haired man, possibly the one who’d spoken, crossed into the camera’s field of vision, moving too quickly for Gwen to see his face. He reached out with gloved hands and grasped the man on the table’s injured leg, twisting it as though to provide the camera with a better shot. The man on the table let out a pained gasp. “Subject experienced compound fracture of left femur, tibia, and ankle three days previous. According to Cornelius protocols, the fractures were not stabilized, and no medication for pain, inflammation, or infection has been administered, in order to better show the healing process. Fluids and nutrients given via intravenous line, as ordinary feeding methods have proven… difficult to continue at the present time.

“X-rays indicate that the bones are showing no signs of regrowth; manual palpation confirms this.” The gloved hand squeezed and twisted; there were heavy, sobbing breaths in the background. Gwen flinched in sympathetic pain, and Andy made a quiet, revolted noise. Jack didn't move at all, didn't make a sound. “This suggests that the Subject does not show an accelerated healing response to severe but non-fatal wounds, although it’s still too early to be sure. Subject is also showing signs of infection; white blood cell response seems to be within normal human parameters, although again, too early to tell. Now, as to the pain response--”

The camera panned up to the face of the man on the table, and Gwen stifled a cry with one hand clamped tightly over her mouth. She knew that face, just as she'd known it in the picture from the file. She knew that man. Andy swore under his breath. Jack was still silent. “Pain threshold seems to be slightly outside human norms, although it’s difficult to be certain how much pain the Subject is feeling, versus the pain the Subject is expressing. Given Subject's background as extra-governmental operative, it is highly probable that Subject was trained to resist pain as proof against interrogation. Further testing is required.”

The man on the table -- it couldn’t be, it wasn’t -- opened his mouth, as if to speak. The footage cut off abruptly.

“No,” Gwen said, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s not possible.”

Then the screen flickered, and the room appeared again -- the man on the table, the banks of electrodes, the paper gown and the restraints and the little grey-haired man. He was again standing behind the table; this time, the camera focused in on his face. He looked perfectly ordinary, clean-shaven and calm; just a scientist in an ordinary white shirt and black tie, lab coat over the top of it. Then the camera dropped a bit, focusing on the man‘s shoulders and chest, leaving his face out of frame. “Subject I-J-3-9-2-7. Accelerated Healing Response. Test 17. Subject experienced compound fracture of left femur, tibia, and ankle eight days previous. According to Cornelius protocols, the fractures were not stabilized, and no medication for pain, inflammation, or infection was given. Nutrients and fluids were administered via intravenous line, as feeding was difficult. Four days after the test began, Subject had shown no signs of spontaneous healing, bone growth or any regeneration, and was in fact showing signs of infection. Following protocol, this was not interfered with, and the Subject died seven days, fourteen hours, after the test began.”

The camera panned over to the man on the table, moving up, and Gwen had to close her eyes for a moment. She’d seen that face so often in her dreams, cold and slack and gray. She couldn’t bear to look at it again. She felt Jack's arm wrapping around her shoulders, and leaned into him for support.

“Regeneration commenced roughly two hours after Subject was pronounced dead, and has continued in similar fashion to previous resurrection events. The first appreciable sign was reduction of swelling in the damaged limb, and fading of discoloration, bruising, and redness symptomatic of the infection.” Opening her eyes, Gwen saw the once-broken leg on the screen, now perfectly straight, perfectly healthy. They‘d replaced the restraints on it. “The bones realigned and began to knit themselves together. First measurable neurological activity occurred half an hour ago, corresponding roughly with a steady rise in blood pressure. Checking for pulse…”

The scientist leaned forward, resting gloved fingers against his subject’s neck. “Pulse is weak, but measurable. Respirations slow and shallow, but present. Color is good.” The scientist took a few steps back. “If we just wait a moment, I think--”

The camera resettled itself on the Subject’s face, and this time, Gwen didn’t turn away. He didn’t look dead, that was the hell of it. He looked like he could wake up at any second. “No, no, no,” she chanted softly, as if that could somehow keep his eyes from opening. But they did.

“Time of resurrection-- 05:43. Approximately nine hours after clinical death.”

The man on the table looked straight into the camera, and Gwen couldn’t breathe. “My name is Ianto Jones,” he said, his voice weak and scratchy, but too familiar. “I work for Torchwood Three, Cardiff. Please, if you’re watching this, if you can see me, tell them--”

“The Subject will now be sedated,” the scientist said, still offscreen. The camera remained trained on Ianto.

“Gwen Cooper and Captain Jack Harkness. Tell them that I’m here. Tell them--” But then he sagged back, eyes closing.

“The test is over,” the scientist said. His voice was calm, had been so throughout the whole thing-- monstrously, obscenely calm. “I shall draw up my report in the morning, with preliminary conclusions and recommendations for further tests.”

The camera lingered on Ianto’s face a moment longer, and then it all went black.

For a moment, everything was silent. Then Hart moved, pressed a few more keys, and the video player vanished. "There's more, actually," he said. He looked surprisingly grim. "But that's enough for now."

"What is this?" Jack asked. His arm was still draped over Gwen's shoulders, almost casual, but she could feel the tension vibrating through him.

"They just call it the Project," Hart replied. "Mostly, they research things like the aging process, cell death, regeneration in salamanders. Sometimes, though, they take on human research subjects. People who show what they refer to as 'resurrection potential.' I'm curious, Jack; how exactly did Ianto learn to come back from the dead? Did he pick it up from you?"

"That's not Ianto." Jack growled out each word, his grip on Gwen tightening convulsively.

"Really." Hart didn't sound particularly frightened. "What do you think, Gwen? You knew Ianto; you worked with him. He was your friend. What do you think?"

Gwen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. During those first months with Jack gone, when Owen had refused to step up and take command and the burden had fallen to Gwen, she'd doubted herself so many times, second-guessed herself, and every time, it had gone badly. Ianto'd been the one to take her aside, to tell her to trust herself, trust her instincts. She listened to him now. "It's him," she said quietly. "I know it."

"Gwen..." Jack's voice was soft, but she could still feel the anger vibrating underneath it. And worse than that, doubt. "I know you want to believe that he's alive, and I do, too, but..."

"Alive and being tortured, Jack?" she asked, shrugging his arm off, suddenly furious. "Alive, so he can be killed over and over again? I don't want that any more than you do. But it's him. It's Ianto. I'd recognize him anywhere."

"He died, Gwen," Andy said. "I was with you when you told the family. I was at his funeral, for God's sake!"

"When Torchwood was dissolved, its property reverted back to the Crown." Gwen's voice was suddenly thick with tears-- she felt as though she was living through her grief all over again, and all at once. "That included Ianto. I told Rhiannon that we could fight, get him back, but she said she just needed to move on. We buried an empty casket."

"Fucking hell," Andy murmured again.

"He's gone," Jack said again, stubborn and angry and maybe just a little scared. "I was there when he died; I was holding him--"

"Did you kiss him goodbye?" Hart leaned in, forcing Gwen and Andy a step backwards. "I've heard the stories, Jack. The powers of Jack Harkness, immortal man. The kiss of life. Did you try to bring him back?"

Jack's whole expression closed down in the blink of an eye. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It didn't work."

"It didn't work the way you expected it to," Hart said, stepping in so that he and Jack were toe-to-toe. "Doesn't mean it didn't work at all."

"It didn't work," Jack said again, voice getting louder. "Whoever -- _whatever_ this thing is, it's not Ianto. And I'm not falling for it, John. Not this time."

"Now there's the Jack Harkness I knew," Hart said. There was an edge to his voice, something almost like frustration. "To hell with saving mankind, or even saving one man, if it's not someone you lo--"

Jack stiffened. "Just because you got some actor to--"

"Begging your pardon, _Captain_ , but that man wasn't acting." Gwen had almost forgotten that Andy was in the room until he spoke, voice steelier than she remembered. "See, I've seen people acting like they're hurt, before. See it all the time, really. Whoever that man is, whether he's Ianto or not, he wasn't faking being hurt. Even I could tell you that much."

Jack turned to look at Andy, and something in the look on his face made Gwen's hackles rise. She'd seen that look before, the patronizing one, the look of the man who'd seen everything, done everything, and therefore always knew best. And Andy obviously recognized it, because he didn't even let Jack get a word out. "Don't." His voice shook, slightly, anger making him a little twitchy. "It's always 'Thank you, Andy, but we'll take it from here' with you, isn't it? 'Fetch us a coffee on your way out, won't you?' Not this time, _Captain_. See, someone had to take care of this city after you buggered off, right? And yeah, there's those UNIT blokes for the worst of it, but try to get them out on the fifth Weevil call of the week and see how far it gets you. Or get them to help when some poor bastard makes his way back through that Rift of yours too scarred to function and needs to get to Flat Holm somehow. See if they'll ever go out to that island of yours and talk to people, give them any comfort."

"How do you--"

But Andy wasn't about to let Jack get a word in. "I've been doing _your_ bloody job for the past two years, and now you're going to swan in and take it back, are you? Well, you can get fucked. I knew Ianto -- I _know_ Ianto -- and I'm not leaving him there to get tortured. And even if it's not Ianto, he still needs help, and if you won't do it, then I will." He turned to Captain Hart, arms folded across his chest, chin raised, and Gwen thought he looked almost heroic. "I'm coming with you."

Hart smiled. "I like him," he said, to no one in particular.

"I'm coming, too," Gwen said. Jack turned to her, face stormy, and she held up both her hands to cut him off. "Andy's right, Jack. Even if that's not Ianto, they're still keeping him prisoner. They're still torturing him. Don't tell me you don't care about that, after what happened with--"

"The Nostrovites," Jack said, glaring at her. "Remember them? Shapeshifters? Could take on anyone's form, even--"

"And if that was a Nostrovite, Jack, all those scientists would be dead now and we wouldn't have to worry."

Jack frowned, apparently taken aback by her prompt response. "What about CERN? You and Ianto both saw--"

"Yes, and we didn't see them on _video_ , did we? They were in our heads, not out there on film." Jack hesitated again, and Gwen pressed forward, glaring up at him. "You can stay here if you want, Jack. You can go back to your alien cruiser and go explore the universe. You can do whatever you like, but don't think you can stop me, because you can't. I'm going, Jack. I'm getting Ianto back."

Jack stared down at her. He looked over her shoulder at Andy. Finally, he turned to John. "I don't trust you," he said, softly. "Which is why I'm coming with you. I'm not going to let you hurt either of them."

Hart just smiled. "Fair enough," he said. "Fair enough."

*

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: Subject Overview
> 
> Subject born in Cardiff, Wales, in close proximity to the Rift. Limited information is available on Subject’s parents, but all available data suggests both were normal human, with no contamination or enhancement from alien DNA sources. Father is since deceased; mother institutionalized. Subject has one sibling, female. Suggestion of acquiring sister for additional testing of genetic/hereditary factors is being considered, but may be impractical at present moment. Subject has no children, but does have niece and nephew. Acquisition, again, seems impractical at given moment, but will be reconsidered should opportunity arise.
> 
> Information on Subject’s early development is limited; records appear to have been altered and/or deleted, perhaps by Subject himself, perhaps by others later on. Remaining data suggests no unusual healing abilities, no capacity for regeneration, and a normal aging process.
> 
> Subject took position with Torchwood Institute following alien contact incident in 2004, age 21 years. Most information regarding that incident was lost in destruction of Canary Wharf facility; surviving fragments suggest a relatively standard encounter with an unknown winged lifeform. No evidence that Subject was at any time bitten, stung, or otherwise came in contact with the alien, although it cannot be ruled out. [See TW1 File: Civilian Alien Encounter, Subject: Ianto Jones, Report: Conclusion and Recommendations (fragment)]. Subject held position with Torchwood One as junior research assistant for two years before the destruction of Canary Wharf. A list of items he may have come into contact with has been compiled and attached to this document as supplementary material. [See TW1 File: Archives A-D, E-H, I-N, S-W; Report: Current Holdings (fragment)]. Current evidence suggests none of the items are related to known resurrection events. Surviving reports of Torchwood One investigation re: Harkness-style Resurrection Abilities show Subject not considered viable candidate at the time. [See TW1 File: CLASSIFIED MEDICAL FILE, Subject: I. Jones, Report: Rift Exposure (fragment.)] Medical records indicate no spontaneous healing or regeneration of missing tissue, limbs, and/or internal organs. Subject does not appear to have died at any point during tenure at Torchwood One. No evidence that Subject came into contact with Samuel Loveday during tenure in London. Z Factor not considered a possibility. [See TW1 File: Known Undead Employees, Subject: Samuel Loveday (fragment)].
> 
> After Canary Wharf, Subject transferred to Torchwood Three, Cardiff, as General Support Staff. Although no description of this position remains, surviving Archival records indicate that Subject was primary caretaker of the Archives from date of hire until the destruction of the Hub three years later. A list of items he may have come into contact with has been compiled and attached to this document as supplementary material. [See TW3 Files: Archives 0-9999, A-D, E-H, I-N, O-R, S-W, X-Z, and Letters Not in English.] Subject is known to have had repeated contact with three artifacts known to have resurrection abilities. [See TW3 File: Resurrection Gauntlet; Reports: Initial Testing, Secondary Tests, Use in Conjunction with Associated (Life) Knife, Addictive Potential, Life-Draining Potential, Second Gauntlet, Anthropomorphic Personifications of Death, and Religion Amongst Weevils.] Two of Subject's coworkers were resurrected using these artifacts [See previously listed files. See also TW3 Files: Suzie Costello (fragment), Dr. Owen Harper (fragment). See also File: Subject OH 8001].
> 
> Upon transfer to Torchwood Three, Subject came under the direct command of Captain Jack Harkness [See: TW1 Files: Report: Harkness, J (fragment), and Known Companions of the Doctor (fragment); TW3 Files: Harkness, J (fragment); [file name redacted]; File: JH 7172]. Captain Jack Harkness was with Subject in Thames House, and is only known witness to Subject's presumed first death. It is not known whether Captain Jack Harkness attempted to halt or somehow reverse the process of Subject's death.
> 
> [paragraph redacted.]
> 
> [paragraph redacted.]
> 
> [paragraph redacted.]

*

Rhys must have been watching for her car through the window; by the time she was halfway up the walk, he was hurrying out to meet her, Edward tucked securely against his side. Gwen threw her arms around him the moment he was in range and just clung to him for a long time, burying her face in his shoulder, their son safe between them. "Oh, sweetheart," Rhys murmured, stroking her hair. "That bad?"

Gwen couldn't speak -- in the initial rush of activity after she'd seen that video, she'd half managed to put it out of mind. There was the arguing with Jack and with Andy, and sorting out where to go and how, and there'd been no chance to dwell on Ianto's gasps and cries of pain, the look on his face, his broken leg. How calmly that doctor had explained all the ways they'd hurt him. When she tried to say something, her voice choked with tears, and all she could get out was "Rhys--"

He stiffened slightly, and when she pulled back (Edward still clutching at her jacket, gabbling at her), she saw Rhys staring at the car, at Jack's profile clearly visible through the windows, dark against the pale, early-morning sky. He stared straight ahead, not acknowledging Gwen or her family. "You're running off again, aren't you?" Rhys asked, his voice low, his arm still around her.

"I've got to, and I'm sorry, Rhys, but--"

Rhys kissed her temple. "I've got your bag ready. But come in and tell me about it first."

"Ma!" Edward called, reaching out for her. "Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma!"

She took her son from Rhys's arms, holding him close, kissing the fine dark hair. He'd need another haircut soon. For just a moment, as he burbled happily, grabbing a fistful of her lapel and stuffing it into his mouth, Gwen couldn't imagine leaving him. Not now, not while he was still so small, while he still needed her so much. But then she glanced back at Jack, and this time, he was watching her. She couldn't see him clearly enough to read his expression, but it didn't really matter. She nodded once, and turned back to Rhys.

"Thank you, sweetheart," she murmured. He squeezed her close, then walked her into the house.

Rhys had the coffee going, and just the smell brought up so many old, familiar aches, stronger now with Ianto so heavy in her thoughts. She wiped at a few fresh tears; Edward grabbed her hand, bringing it close to his mouth. She managed to smile at him, pulling gently away to take the mug that Rhys offered her. "Thanks," she said again, taking a sip, mindful of Edward's grasping hands. It tasted like ashes, but that wasn't Rhys's fault, so she drank a bit more.

Rhys watched her for a moment, leaning against the kitchen table. She'd forgotten that look, the worried one, the one that made her feel so guilty. Then he sighed, steering her towards a chair as he deftly shifted Eddie from her arms to his. "Right, then," he said, sitting down next to her. "What's happened?"

Gwen took a deep breath, then another, trying to steady herself. "It was John Hart," she said, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "At the police station. Asking for us."

"Bloody hell," Rhys said, shaking his head. "What's that bastard done now?"

"He's found Ianto," Gwen said, her voice embarrassingly soft. "Alive."

Rhys stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Gwen--" he said, and she raised her hand, cutting him off like she had Jack.

"I know, I know, but just... Is it that impossible, Rhys? You've seen Jack, what he can do. How do we know he couldn't... pass it on, somehow? Or... We don't even know how it happened, or at least he's not telling. Who's to say it couldn't have happened again?"

"But... Jack just pops back up, like, right? So how could-- I mean, you'd have noticed, wouldn't you?"

Gwen shook her head. "It's not exactly the same. According to the files I saw, it takes him hours to come back around. By the time he... we were already in Cardiff. And Jack was in jail. There wasn't anyone to help him."

Rhys sank back in his chair, Eddie tugging gleefully at his shirt, babbling nonsense in a steady stream. " _Help_ him," he said, quietly. "Someone's got him, haven't they?"

"Some kind of research project, studying immortality." Gwen swallowed hard, clutching her coffee cup with both hands. She couldn't look at Rhys, not at that moment. "They've been running tests on him. Seeing what he can come back from, how long it takes, if he heals faster than other people."

"Oh Jesus." Rhys let out a long, slow breath. "Jesus. And that was in these files?"

Gwen had to close her eyes, then. "Hart had this... video."

"Of them experimenting on Ianto," Rhys finished. Somehow, hearing it in his voice, so grave, made everything fresh again, and Gwen had to set her coffee on the table and bury her head in her hands. Rhys reached out with his free hand, stroking her arm. For a few moments, it was only that, and then he spoke again. "I hate to ask you this, Gwen, but are you _sure_? I mean, that thing at the wedding..."

It was easier to hear this from Rhys than from Jack. Not much, but still. Gwen wiped the tears from her face and looked up at Rhys-- there was nothing on his face but worry, no condescension, no real doubt. He trusted her, at least. "That thing at the wedding would have broken those doctors in half without thinking twice, Rhys," she said, softly. "Shape-changing aliens don't usually lie back and let you torture them. Even if that person I saw in the video wasn't Ianto, he was still suffering. There's no faking that."

Rhys cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing away the last of his tears with his thumb. "But you're sure it's him."

"He was my friend, Rhys," she said. "He is my friend. I can't..."

"I told you, I've already packed you a bag." His smile was barely a shadow, but it still heartened her. "It's sitting by the door. You'll do what's right. I trust you."

"Rhys--" But her throat was too tight, and she couldn't get anything else to come out. She reached for him, clutching his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.

They sat like that for a long time, Gwen leaning precariously out of her chair, Rhys holding her up with one arm, Eddie safely nestled between them. Then they broke apart, and Rhys stood up. "Right. You be careful. Don't worry about Eddie and me, here, we'll be all right. Just look after yourself. Right?"

"Yeah. Sure. Always." Gwen swallowed hard, forced a smile, before turning to scoop up her bag. "Rhys?" He turned to look at her, Edward waving his fists at her, and Gwen had to wonder for a moment how she could really leave them again. But then she remembered Ianto's face in that video, Ianto dying in her dreams, Jack telling her _You should have stood by him_ , and there wasn't really any choice to be made. "I love you," she said.

"I love you," Rhys said, and she hurried to him, threw her arms around his waist and kissed him as hard as she could, just in case it was the last time she ever would. "Right," he said, slightly breathless when she pulled away. "Faster you go save Ianto, faster you're home." She nodded and made her way towards the front door. "And Gwen?" There was a strange look on his face when she turned back to him, something she couldn't quite name. "If it... if it really is Ianto..."

"I'll bring him home," she said. "I promise." He nodded, and Edward waved (although she knew he didn't really know what it meant, not yet), and she closed her eyes and tried to fix the image in her mind forever. Then she smiled at them both, one more time, and left her house, closing the door behind her.

Jack didn't say anything as she swung her bag into the backseat, then got in at the driver's side and took off down the road, towards Splott and Andy's flat, where he and Hart were gathering up a few necessaries. Finally, he took a deep breath, and said, "Your son... he'd be a year old now? No, more than that."

"Just gone fifteen months," Gwen said, pulling to a stop at a light.

"Walking?"

Gwen let out a short laugh; it didn't sound much like her. "Never did walk, seems like. Straight from crawling to running. Rhys says he gets it from me." She had to take a steadying breath, then, and shift her grip on the steering wheel.

Jack didn't reach out -- time was, he would have done, but times had changed. "You don't have to do this, Gwen. Whatever John said, we can find a way--"

"Yes I do, Jack." Because Ianto was her friend, had always been, even when she was the new girl who couldn't seem to take a step without cocking something up, and he was just the teaboy that no one ever listened to. Because he'd always been there, whether she needed information or a wedding dress or a shoulder to cry on or just a cup of coffee on a late night. Because he was hers as much as he'd been Jack's. "I do."

Jack looked at her for a long time, just looked. "And if I ordered you to--"

"Don't, Jack." Gwen tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "You haven't the right. Not anymore." He was opening his mouth to speak when she continued, "And don't you dare bring my son into this, or my husband. Don't you dare."

He shut his mouth with a snap, and turned to stare out the window. "Do you think it would have been any different if I'd stayed?" he asked, after a few moments. "Because I don't. I am sorry that I left you, and I'm sorry... I'm sorry for what happened to Torchwood, but I couldn't have rebuilt, Gwen. Not after... not after everything."

"I'm not angry with you for leaving, Jack." He gave her a look, and she smiled despite herself. "All right, I am. I'm furious with you for leaving. But that's not... I'm not going to rescue Ianto just to spite you, you know. Not everything is about you." He half-smiled and turned away to stare out the window again. "Besides, when have you ever been able to stop me from doing what I thought was right?"

He shook his head. "Even when it gets you in trouble," he said, darkly.

Gwen could only sigh. "We're always in trouble, Jack," she said. "Best we can do is hope our friends come and get us out of it."

Jack gave her another look, but, in a rare show of restraint, didn't say anything. They continued driving, in silence.


	2. Lost Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gwen, Jack, John, and Andy arrive at their penultimate destination to make new friends and new plans.

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: Status Update [excerpt]
> 
> ...which suggests that Subject's regenerative capabilities are limited to some degree, even when Subject is undergoing resurrection event. This raises the possibility that Subject's resurrection ability is also limited. Care must be taken in order to prevent these limits being reached, as this would bring the study of this Subject to a premature end.
> 
> It is recommended that a member of the Project's medical staff be assigned to monitor and maintain the Subject's physical condition. A list of suitable candidates has been submitted to the Board for their consideration. Should the Board choose to assign a member of the Project's medical staff to this task, it is further recommended that staff member be closely monitored, and guidelines carefully established so as to prevent any act on the part of the medical staff that might seek to terminate the study of this Subject or otherwise interfere with the research of the Project. It is further recommended that...

*

_They were all in the morgue, Jack and Gwen and Rhys and Andy, Ianto's body laid out on the table, his white shirt stained with blood, a hole in his waistcoat marking where Bilis had shot him. Jack was cleaning the blood from underneath Gwen's fingernails, saying "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," and she knew it hadn't happened like this, she knew it wasn't right, but then Bilis strolled in, wearing that wrist cuff and that absurd red coat and said, "You can bring him back, Gwen," and when he walked up the stairs and out of sight, she ran after him. But it wasn't the Hub anymore; it was some kind of a ship, metal floors and metal walls, and somewhere, she could hear Jack screaming._

_Someone brushed past her-- tall, clad all in white-- and she turned to see a woman standing there with blonde hair, red lips and a red dress, and Gwen grabbed hold of her. "Where's Jack?" she demanded. The woman laughed, and Gwen shook her, hard. "Where is he?"_

_"He's dead," the woman said, but she was wearing the red coat and her hair was short and brown, and there were scars all over her wrist. "He's dead," Captain Hart said, and he laughed, and Gwen pushed him aside and kept running, turning a corner, into a room filled with steam and the scent of engine grease, and Jack was hanging there, chained by his wrists to the pipes, and his shirt was stained with blood._

_"I'm sorry," someone said, and she turned and saw that it was Jack. "I can't do this. I can't. I'm so sorry."_

_When she turned back, it was Ianto hanging from the pipes, his shirt stained with blood._

Gwen jerked awake with a gasp, brought up short by her seatbelt. Seatbelt. She was in a car. She was--

"--why you keep bringing that up," Hart said, "since it was _ages_ ago, and anyway, that _was_ your brother. Not what you were expecting, and I'll grant you that, but--"

"Oh, well. That's reassuring. We're still walking--"

"Driving, technically--"

"Thank you for the correction. We're still _driving_ into a trap, only rather than Ianto being the bait, he's actually the mastermind behind it all. Fantastic. Exactly what I wanted to hear. Thank you."

Hart let out an irritated sigh. "Except that it's _not_ a trap--"

"Except that, since you said that the last time--"

"Actually, I _didn't_ , and I'll appreciate your not putting words in my mouth."

Gwen sank back into her seat, closing her eyes. Still in the SUV, still heading off to God-knows-where, and Jack was still being a complete and total arse. Fantastic.

"All right?" Andy asked, nudging her.

She turned and gave him a slight smile. "Just a dream," she said, quietly.

"Bad one?" Gwen nodded, and Andy reached out, awkwardly patted her hand. "Not surprised, that video and all. Probably won't be able to sleep for a week, me. God, just thinking--"

"What's interesting to me," Hart said, his calm suddenly slipping, "is that you're so concerned with what I've done in the past that you're missing out on what the Project is doing in the here and now."

"I'm not--"

"Because if you'd been reading your file instead of lecturing me, you'd have noticed that they've killed Ianto Jones thirty-three times at last count." Andy's hand froze on top of Gwen's as he goggled up at the men in the front of the SUV. Even Jack could only stare, slack-jawed. "Thirty-three times. And that's not counting their other little experiments-- will his fingers regrow if we cut them off, will his organs regrow if we take them out, all those charming methods of vivisection that even I don't have the stomach for."

"That's enough," Jack said, sharply.

But there was no stopping Hart now. "But you don't care about that, do you? You care about me, and you, and me betraying you, but when someone else gets involved--"

"Don't." Jack's voice was quieter than Hart's, but no less dangerous. "I don't trust you. I don't believe you. That doesn't mean I don't care." He studied Hart for a moment, before adding, "Although it seems like you care enough for the both of us. Last time I saw you this passionate about something, you were trying to get me to abandon everything, not come back to it."

"Yeah. Well." Hart's eyes met Gwen's in the rearview mirror, and she frowned. There was something... something odd about his look, then. But she couldn't place it. "And now you're the one desperate to get away. Funny how things change."

"Yeah," Jack said. "Funny." After a few tense moments, he settled back in his seat, picking up his file and beginning to flip through it.

Gwen let her eyes slip closed and just breathed for a moment, before the strangeness of the situation could completely overwhelm her. When she opened her eyes again, Andy was staring at her.

"What the hell is going on, Gwen?" he asked, sotto voce.

She could only shrug. She didn't know.

*

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: INCIDENT REPORT 4/11, Security Footage (transcript) [excerpt]
> 
> IJ 3927 (SUBJECT): You don't have to stand so far back. It's not like I'm going to bite you.
> 
> ST 0963 (MEDICAL STAFF): Is this better?
> 
> IJ 3927: Hmm.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: I did, didn't I? I bit you. In the ambulance. When you brought me here.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: It's funny, really. I feel the strangest urge to apologize to you, and you don't deserve it at all. Yet the instinct remains.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: I'd forgotten; you don't really do small talk, do you? Probably for the best.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: I remember... Something happened, I don't remember exactly what, but a couple of Owen's lab rats got loose or something, and by the time we found them, there were all these little baby mice to deal with, too. Gwen, of course, had to name them, and then once she named them, she started giving them little treats and taking them out of the cages, letting them ride on her shoulder or in her pocket, things like that. Like they were pets. Well, Owen being Owen, he never could tell which ones were Gwen's pets and which ones were his test subjects, so he got mixed up and tested some sort of alien... It was a spore or something, I can't remember. It doesn't matter. What matters, of course, is that little Bedwyr died a particularly gruesome death, even by Torchwood standards, and Gwen was in a right state over the whole thing. No one likes it when their pets get killed.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: Even if they know the pet's going to come back in the end.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: Although I suppose it might be different for you. I never could get used to it, with Jack. Every time, I thought...
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: It's amazing what we'll say just to fill the silence. [laughter] Last time I was stuck in a place like this, I--
> 
> ST 0963: Sssh.
> 
> [pause. muffled voices in the distance]
> 
> ST 0963: Did you hear that?
> 
> [more voices. louder.]

*

They skidded round a bend, nearly mounting the curb and taking out an old-fashioned blue police box; Gwen clutched at the door, trying not to panic. Hart was even more insane behind the wheel than Jack, something Gwen had thought impossible. The brakes squealed -- looking out the window, Gwen saw rows of seedy-looking flats, red brick and yellowed limestone. "Last stop," Hart said, throwing the SUV into neutral gear just a tiny bit before it had fully stopped; the resulting jerk flung Gwen into her seatbelt and forced an irritated "Oi!" from Andy.

"Welcome to Torchwood Two, everybody."

Torchwood, in Gwen's mind, had always conjured up images of glass and steel and blinking electronic lights. It didn't matter that Torchwood Three had also featured a beaded curtain and a small amount of peeling lino; there had been more than enough high-tech underground base to it to make her forget those bits. There was nothing high-tech here.

"But they dissolved Two," she said, unfastening her belt and sliding gratefully out of the SUV. She had to lean on it a bit for support; the drive had been just long enough for her to forget how to walk.

"Bit hard to dissolve when it's just the one man," came the reply, a reedy, thin voice with a heavy Scots brogue. Gwen turned to see an old man walking towards them, wild white hair a halo round his head, clad in a tartan dressing gown and leaning on a cane. He was small, almost gnomish, and unsettled her in a way she couldn't adequately describe. "They could've done, I suppose. But they didn't, so here I am. Torchwood Two, at your service." He glanced down at his robe, plucked at it with a surprisingly young-looking hand. "Perhaps I could have dressed the part a bit better."

"Archie," Jack said, suddenly sounding a good deal more like the old Captain, full of hearty good cheer. He strode forward, hand outstretched.

"Captain Harkness." The old man didn't smile; his eyes were sharp and shrewd. He took Jack's hand in one of his, turned it over and studied the palm. Then he blinked up at Jack, who had yet to pull away from him. "Never took that young man of yours to get his fortune read, did you? Should have; could have saved a lot of trouble that way. But. Time is, Time was, Time's past, as Bacon's Brazen Head would remind us."

"You don't still have that thing, do you?" Jack asked.

Archie finally let go of Jack's hand, seemingly just so he could make a dismissive gesture. "Kept what was needful when they dissolved me, scattered the rest before the jackals could snatch it. It'll come to light again; it always does. Shame, though; it was as good a clock as any, and a serviceable paperweight besides." He turned to Gwen, cocking his head and looking up at her. "You'll be Gwen Cooper, then. Old family, the Coopers. Good family. Even if none of you could actually make a barrel to save yourselves. I'm Archie."

"How d'you do?" she asked, holding out one hand reluctantly. She wasn't entirely surprised when he took it, turned it over, and began to scrutinize her palm. She hadn't expected his fingers to be so dry, so warm. His grip was gentle.

Whatever he saw in the lines and creases of her right hand must have pleased him; he glanced up at her with a slight smile. "Bloody-minded, aren't you, lass? You'll do. You'll do very well." Then his gaze shifted over Gwen's shoulder, to where Andy stood looming over her. Gwen wondered absently if he was trying to protect her or trying to hide behind her. It was probably a bit of both. "Great gangling thing you are."

As soon as her hand was free, Gwen stepped away, letting Andy come forward. "Hullo," he said, obviously baffled. "I'm... er... I'm Andy."

"Indeed." Archie didn't bother with his name again; he obviously felt it had been said enough, but he did scrutinize Andy's hand at length, whilst Andy stood and fidgeted. "Suppose you're all right, for all that you're Andy," Archie said, finally letting him go. As soon as he was free, Andy bustled around to the back of the car and started pulling out everyone's bags. Archie watched him for a second, half-smiling, then turned to Hart. "Wasn't expecting you back so soon," he said, raising an eyebrow. "The doctor won't be here for ages yet."

"The Doctor?" Jack repeated, a strange note of hope in his voice. Gwen felt her pulse pick up a little bit.

"Not that one, Captain; doubt we'll be seeing him this go-around. It's a Dr. Tau we've got coming; works for the Project. Odd one, he is." Archie started towards the red brick building, moving at a surprising rate despite his cane. Jack was immediately at his heels, with Hart following; Gwen and Andy were left to struggle along in the rear, carrying the luggage. Gwen was deeply, deeply glad that she'd learned to pack lightly and cope with whatever came to hand in her time at Torchwood; the stairs were narrow and steep, and she was no longer in the shape she'd once been. "Not the sort you'd expect to see, working there. All heart, no head. No idea how he's managed to survive as long as he has. Boy hasn't much talent for lying. Still, none of us are dead yet, so I reckon he's doing all right." Archie stopped at the third-floor landing and withdrew an enormous keyring from a pocket of his dressing gown. Five different keys for five different locks, and the door finally swung open. "Not really room for the five of us, but needs must, when the Devil drives."

They filed in slowly; Andy was gaping, and Gwen could only hope she was hiding her surprise a bit better. It wasn't much bigger than her old flat, and every available space was crammed with... Gwen wasn't sure what to call it. There was a stuffed owl, a carpet bag, and a globe that looked to have been made some time before the discovery of the new world; a battered hat, a jam jar full of sparkling dust, and a scroll tied up with ribbon; at least four astrolabes, two sextants, one octant, and various other tarnished clockwork contraptions; and books, books everywhere, most of them leather-bound, gilt flaking off the spines. None of it would have put light in Tosh's eyes; she liked her gadgetry shiny, sleek and minimalist. Ianto might have enjoyed it, though. "Mind what you touch," Archie said, stopping Andy with his fingers bare centimeters from picking up the hat. "That one'll start singing if you pick it up, won't stop for days." Andy pulled back at once, alarmed. "Gentlemen'll kip in here; there's sleeping bags in the airing cupboard." Turning, Archie gave Gwen what might have been the ghost of a small smile. "Lady gets the spare room, of course." And he was shuffling off, cane thumping against the carpet; Gwen could only follow.

The spare room wasn't really much more than a glorified closet with a camp bed in it. Then again, it wasn't as though Gwen hadn't slept in worse. Archie shooed a sleek black cat off the bed, and Gwen watched it run from the room with a sort of bemused horror. "Doesn't she... I mean, a cat, she could knock something down, or..."

Archie shook his head, but he seemed more amused than disgusted. "Cats have sense, Gwen Cooper. Minerva here knows what she's about, never fear." He stared up at her for a moment, scrutinizing, then added, "I never thanked you, by the way."

Gwen searched her memory, but couldn't come up with anything. "You won't remember," Archie said. "When the Ministry of Defense first decided I was no longer useful, you lot tried to help. That Ianto Jones in particular. Treasure trove of information he was. Think he knew more about this job than I did. Not that it helped, of course, but it was nice to know someone cared."

It didn't sound familiar at all, but it wouldn't have been the first time Ianto'd taken up a secret project of his own, something to fill the hours he whiled away at the Hub. Not that he would have had that many, of course, between the regular work of Torchwood, tending to Jack's secrets, and tending to Jack himself. "Sounds like the sort of thing he'd have done," she said.

"Not 'he'd have done'," Archie chided. "The sort of thing he _does_. Or will do again, at any rate, once we get him out of that place. He's not gone yet. Nor, I think, will we lose him any time soon."

"You really think he's still alive?" Gwen asked, not sure whether she wanted him to say that it was Ianto or that it wasn't.

"Don't you?" He pushed past her and limped out of the room without waiting for a reply.

Gwen dropped her bag, sinking heavily onto the bed. She'd read as much of her file as she could, although it didn't always make much sense to her. Owen would have understood it all easily, although she couldn't imagine what his reaction to it would have been. Even with her own limited understanding, it was... She couldn't see how Ianto could have survived any of it, let alone _all_ of it.

It was easier, somehow, with Jack -- she'd seen him coming back from the dead almost as soon as she'd known him. He'd never been anything other than invincible. But Ianto... she'd seen him hurt, seen him broken down, seen him heartsick and alone. He was so fragile sometimes, so vulnerable, so... mortal. It didn't seem possible that he could still be alive.

_They've killed him thirty-three times_ , Hart had said. And for all he was a liar, for all that she knew he wasn't telling them everything...

He wasn't lying about that.

Gwen closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands.

There was a quiet "Ehm..." from the doorway, and she looked up at Andy, mustered a smile for him. He smiled back. "All right, then?" he asked, leaning on the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

"I mourned him, Andy," she said, her voice still steady, but not by very much. "He was my friend, and I loved him, and I mourned him when he died, and now..."

"Now you're thinking he'd have done better to stay dead?" Andy asked, his voice still very quiet.

"No. I... I don't know." She sighed, and dropped her head back into her hands. "I don't know. All that they've done to him, Andy."

"I know." The cot dipped and squeaked as Andy sat down next to her. "Thing is, Gwen, I know he's all... posh, like, or now he is, but he wasn't always. I've talked to his sister a few times -- lovely woman, really-- and it sounds like Ianto was a right scrapper when he was young. Even now, you know, whenever I had dealings with him... Very polite, yes, very genteel, if you like, but you could tell that he wasn't the sort to be trifled with. 'Specially if someone got hurt. God forbid if one of you lot got hurt. And, you know, reading those reports and all -- couldn't always make sense out of them, but it did seem like he was always trying to break free, get himself out of there. He's not given up yet, sounds like. We can't give up on him."

She looked up at him, saw him smiling back at her. "Guess you're right, then," she sighed.

"Course I'm right. I'm bloody brilliant, me." That got a little laugh from her, not much, but all the same. "We'll get him back, Gwen," Andy said, his face serious now. "We'll bring him home."

She nodded, and he clapped her awkwardly on the shoulder. Then he stood, held out his hand, and when she took it, he tugged her to her feet. "Don't much fancy this place," he admitted, under his breath. "Feel like if I touch anything it'll blow up and take me with it."

"I reckon Archie'd have anything dangerous hidden away," Gwen said, even though she didn't actually know anything of the sort. "His cat seems to do well enough."

"His cat?"

"Don't know why everyone's so surprised by the cat," Archie said, popping his head in. "It's good to have a cat around. Clever, they are. And a cat may look at a king, or so they say. Anyway, tea's done, if you're up for it."

"Thanks," Gwen said, and Archie raised an eyebrow before tactfully withdrawing. She turned to Andy, and, going on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek. "And thanks."

Andy went a bit pink, but grinned at her. "Any time," he said. Feeling strengthened, Gwen made her way into the living room, Andy trailing along after her.

Hart was sprawled in a large easy chair that had been covered over with a sheet of plastic -- he had one leg draped over the armrest and a cup of tea held loosely in his hands, and would have looked completely relaxed if not for the way he stared at Jack. Jack was perched at the edge of the couch, apparently absorbed in watching the steam rising from his mug. His shoulders were slumped, a little, and Gwen's heart went out to him. She took her seat next to him, the slipcover crinkling beneath her weight, and Jack looked up, managed a smile. "It's a bit cozier than the Hub," he said, quietly.

"It's fine," she said. "Just..." Her eyes fell on what appeared to be a stuffed wolf's head mounted above a bookcase, and she couldn't help but smile. "Just a bit different."

"I'll say," Andy murmured.

Archie poked his head out from behind a beaded curtain set into the wall. "For a person to be different, there has to be something for them to be different from. Since we're all different from one another, it follows that we're all the same. Now help me with the tea things, or it'll take all day." His head disappeared again, and after giving Gwen a worried look, Andy turned and pushed his way through the beads.

Jack's smile turned conspiratorial. "Told you he was weird," he murmured.

There was a rattle of beads as Archie stepped out of what had to be the kitchenette, mug of tea in one hand, cane in the other. "You're a fine one to talk, Captain," he said, reprovingly. Andy followed after him, balancing two more mugs and a plate of chocolate digestives. He passed one mug to Gwen, before settling cautiously down next to her, the plastic slipcover crinkling as the couch sank under his weight. "Not as strange as that blonde over in London, perhaps. Yvette, wasn't it?"

"Yvonne," Jack corrected, back to frowning. "And I wouldn't call her strange. Too ordinary, maybe."

Andy sat down next to Gwen. "Biscuit?" he asked, offering her the plate.

"No, thanks," she murmured, and took another sip of her tea.

"Ordinary," Archie said, settling himself into a battered rocking chair -- must have been an old favorite, as there was no plastic on it. "Meaningless word. Ordinary people in an ordinary world, doing ordinary things and none of it is the way they _think_ it is." He sipped his tea. "The things we see, the life we lead, proves that 'ordinary' is just a collective delusion. Nothing ordinary is real.

"Your Ianto Jones, there's a man. Looks as ordinary as they come. But there's nothing ordinary about the life he's led, or the person he is. Or he _is_ ordinary, perhaps; there's no shortage of people walking around out there with all sorts of secrets hidden under their clothes. Could be that what we call ordinary is actually extraordinarily rare, and that which we call strange is commonplace. It's all subjective."

Jack looked as though he were about to speak, but couldn't quite find the words. Or he was trying not to shout, maybe; he'd done rather enough of that, at least in Gwen's opinion. "About Ianto," Jack said, finally. "With all due respect, Archie, I'm finding it hard to believe--"

"Are you?" Archie asked, eyebrow raised. "You are here, after all."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've walked into a trap," Jack said, almost shockingly honest.

"It'd be the first time I'd set it, though," Archie replied. "Do you really trust me so little, after all these years?"

Jack ducked his head, went back to staring at his tea. "I wasn't--"

"Just making a point, Captain." Archie sighed, shaking his head. "I realize that the Project is new to you, but it isn't new to me. It's the reason Two is gone, you know." Jack looked up at him, blinking. "Oh yes. Got rid of my access, my clearance, so I couldn't properly monitor what they were doing, pensioned me out, then tore down my Torchwood, my home for these last fifty years, and built their Facility right on the old foundations."

"You're joking."

"Right on the foundations," Archie repeated, grimly. "Well. It was government property, after all. And Saxon was very keen on making sure his Project had a proper location, far from prying eyes. After that disaster with Richard Lazarus and all--"

"Saxon." Jack's face had closed down alarmingly. "Harold Saxon."

"Oh yes. They've tried to cover up the connection since, of course, but Saxon established the funding for them back when he was Minister of Defence. No idea how he managed to get it into the budget -- completely outside his purview, really. But he always did get everything he wanted, or nearly everything." Gwen's hands were shaking so that her half-drunk tea sloshed up in her mug, nearly spilling over the sides. She wasn't really sure why. "I rather suspected it from the start; Saxon never made much of a secret of his dislike for Two. Thought my ways were archaic and I focused too much on silly superstitions. But it was our Dr. Tau who made the connection. He's said from the start that there's more--"

Someone picked that precise moment to tap, very lightly, at the door.

"That'll be him now," Archie said, and levered himself out of the rocking chair with assistance from his cane. He peered through the spyhole at the door, apparently feeling the need to make sure, before briskly undoing all of the locks and opening the door. "Dr. Tau," he said, by way of greeting.

"Sorry it took so long. They were harder to shake than usual today." A surprisingly young-looking man slipped into the room, glancing over his shoulder as if afraid that someone was going to follow him through the door. He was tallish, slim and dark-haired, and there was something about him that reminded Gwen a little of Ianto. It was less his appearance and more his demeanor, at once deferential and aloof.

"You were followed?" Jack asked, sitting up a little straighter, watching Dr. Tau with narrowed eyes.

"I'm always followed." The doctor shrugged, and passed several file folders over to Archie before beginning to unwind a long scarf from his neck. His tone was nonchalant, but he couldn't seem to help darting another glance at the door. "Well, actually, it's mostly CCTV, which is apparently very easy to fool. And the tracking device in my cell phone, which is--" He glanced down at Hart, who was busily punching buttons on his wrist strap.

"Currently telling them that you're still at home," Hart said, sinking back into his chair with an air of satisfaction.

Jack was frowning. "That's a lot of trouble to go to, to keep an eye on you."

Dr. Tau shrugged. "Standard operating procedure, as far as I know. From the moment I signed on to the Project, they've been monitoring me. That's why I... The moment I sought outside help, they'd have found out, and I'd have been..." He glanced down at Hart. "Fortunately, Captain Hart is very good at making himself invisible. And he's been very willing to help."

Hart beamed. "See, they're not all bad, my criminal ways. They come in useful, from time to time." He clapped his hands together briskly, and levered himself out of his chair. "Anyway. Introductions, yes? Dr. Simon Tau, this is--"

"Completely unnecessary," Dr. Tau said. He shrugged out of his coat, draping it over one arm. Once the topcoat was off, he looked more casual than Ianto ever had -- a jumper and jeans, no three-piece suit -- but he carried himself in such a way that Gwen reckoned he'd never seen the inside of a council estate, let alone grown up in one. He was posh in a way that Ianto had never managed to be. "I'm sure everyone here knows who I am, and what I... What I've done."

"We know," Jack said. It sounded like a threat.

Dr. Tau's eyebrow twitched, but he kept his calm with surprising skill. "And, of course, I recognize Captain Harkness, Mrs. Cooper , and PC Davidson from their files."

"Files." Jack's voice, if anything, grew that much more dangerous.

Dr. Tau nodded. Archie handed him the folders, and he passed them round; two for each person. Gwen couldn't help but notice that one of Jack's was a good deal thicker than everyone else's, almost like a novel. Curious, she flipped one of hers open and saw her own face staring back at her. "We have access to the remaining Torchwood records, of course, but they're fragmented at best. But we also have our own files; when Saxon established the Project, he initiated surveillance protocols on Torchwood Three and everyone connected to it. They've been waiting for something like this to happen, for one of you to come back."

_Everyone connected to it..._ Gwen's mouth went dry, and she flipped through hers, searching. Sure enough, there was a picture of herself, Rhys, and Eddie. Rhys was carrying Eddie in the sling. They looked so vulnerable. "No," she said, standing and scrabbling in her jeans pocket for her mobile. "I can't--"

"Your husband is fine, Mrs. Cooper," Dr. Tau said, reaching out as if to catch her wrist, but stopping a few inches away. "He's... He's very public. Visible in the community. The last thing the Project wants to do is cause a stir. He'll be fine." Gwen studied him for a long moment-- the seriousness in his eyes, the set of his jaw. Finally, she sat down again. Dr. Tau crouched in front of her, apparently trying to stay at eye level as much as he could. "The Project is very, very good at staying hidden. They don't take unnecessary chances. If they were to find out that you were here looking for them, looking for Mr. Jones in particular, they might feel that holding your family hostage was an acceptable risk. Which is why we need to keep that hidden. But there is a cover story, if you're willing to--"

Gwen didn't hear Jack say anything, but Dr. Tau reacted as though he had, stopping short and looking up at Jack's face. Jack's eyebrow was raised; his face was otherwise completely blank and neutral, something Gwen recognized as a very bad sign.

Dr. Tau must have sensed it -- he swallowed hard before speaking. "We can't sneak you into the Facility," he said. "There's only the one entrance, and it's heavily guarded. Every vehicle that comes in or out is completely searched. Then there's motion sensors, heat sensors, retinal scans at all the doors... We'd never make it. And we can't use the Vortex Manipulators, as Captain Hart proved." He glanced over his shoulder at Hart, who shrugged. "Brute force isn't an option-- it'd take an army for us to storm the building, an army which we don't have. There's only one reliable way into the Facility, and it's the way Ianto got in."

"Dying and then coming back," Gwen finished.

"Not a problem," Jack said, pushing up to his feet, as if to leave right then and there and get started.

Dr. Tau stood, stepping directly in front of Jack. He wasn't quite tall enough to meet Jack's eyes without tilting his chin up. "Sit down, Captain Harkness," he said.

"If you honestly think I'm going to let you--"

"Sit down, Captain Harkness." Dr. Tau never raised his voice, but it didn't waver either; his eyes never once left Jack's, and after a few moments, Jack actually sat back down. Just as he had with Gwen, Dr. Tau sank into a crouch in front of him, staying at Jack's level. He reached out with one slim, long-fingered hand, tapping the bulging file folder he'd handed to Jack. "Both Mrs. Cooper and PC Davidson have their complete files, Captain Harkness. But yours..." He shook his head. "This is the tip of the iceberg. Our information dates back to your first encounters with Torchwood Three back in the late 1800s. The Time Agency, your Vortex Manipulator, your travels with the Doctor... Every resurrection incident we could get data on; every instance of extraordinary healing or unusual abilities.

"There are other immortals in the world, Captain Harkness. Some of them are hidden. Some of them don't bother. We have files on them; brief, cursory. But we've never attempted to take them in, even if it would be easy as anything. We're not interested in them. Only you."

Jack finally looked back at him. "But Ianto--"

"Is like you, Captain Harkness. He dies and then comes back to life. Most immortals don't do that." Dr. Tau leaned forward. "But he's not you, Captain Harkness. Not as old, not as dangerous, and not as skilled at getting out of traps. Neither are Mrs. Cooper or PC Davidson. If they were to drop dead in the streets of Glasgow tomorrow, and wake up in hospital an hour later, the Project would send out... five people. Maybe six. Standard recovery team. If you were the one to die, Captain Harkness, they'd send dozens. We wouldn't be able to get you back out. I'm sure you'd escape on your own, eventually, even if it meant you had to outlive everyone in the Project to do so. But that wouldn't help us now."

"I'll do it," Gwen said.

Jack shook his head, deep lines between his eyes. "Gwen--"

She rested one hand on his knee, but kept her eyes on Dr. Tau. "I'll do it," she said again. "What do you need?"

Dr. Tau looked at her for a long time, then glanced up at Archie and nodded. Archie limped over to an ornate cabinet leaning against the wall, opened it, and pulled out a parcel. Gwen's heart picked up speed when he dropped it in her lap. She tore the paper open to find a black UNIT kit, an I.D. badge with her name and picture on, and a gleaming black laptop.

"Congratulations," Archie said. "You've been seconded."

Gwen ran her fingers over the uniform. It looked real enough, little red cap and all. "How did you get this?" she asked.

Archie shrugged. "I've friends," he said.

There was something in the pocket; a little card, like the sort that came with a bouquet. Gwen pulled it out. _Courtesy of Smith and Jones_ , it read. Smiling, she passed it over to Jack. "Martha," she said, quietly.

Jack read it, glanced up at Archie. "Mickey?"

"Far more clever than he gets credit for, that one," Archie said.

"You're here unofficially," Dr. Tau explained. "The Project would never touch you if they thought UNIT would come looking. Think of the laptop and uniform as props. They'll be in your hotel room in case the Project sends Cleaners in to verify your identity, but otherwise, you don't need them."

"Gwen's going to a hotel?" Andy looked uneasy.

Jack, too, had gone stiff and straight-backed, his hand closing almost possessively over Gwen's. "I don't think--"

Dr. Tau held up his hand, forestalling any objections. "It's important that there's a trail for them to follow-- checking in at the hotel under your own name, using your credit cards, calling your husband on your cell phone, so they can get a trace from it." Gwen swallowed hard; the idea that her phones had been bugged all this time made her deeply uneasy. "You can stay here-- in fact, it's probably best to stick together as much as you can. You just need to check in at the hotel, leave some things there, maybe go in and out a few times so that you're seen."

Gwen nodded, feeling reassured. Much as she'd ordinarily fancy a little lap of luxury, she didn't want to be too far from Jack or Andy, just in case. "So, why am I here? Unofficially."

Dr. Tau almost smiled. "You're looking for Captain Hart." Hart, just visible over Dr. Tau's shoulder, gave her a predatory grin. "He's already broken into the Project once, so they know he's been in the area. Granted, there's been no sign of him since, but as I've said..." Dr. Tau glanced over his shoulder again; Hart was practically beaming now. "Well. He's a hard man to find. The Project is painfully aware of that. They'll be more than willing to let you do the dirty work of tracking him down."

"Let me guess," Gwen said, quietly. "He'll find me first."

"We know that he likes to poison people," Dr. Tau explained. "It's in his file. Day after tomorrow, you'll be found with no detectable heartbeat, no respirations; to all appearances, you'll be dead. Then you'll wake up. It'll take about an hour; by then you'll be in Glasgow Royal, either A&E or the morgue; it depends on how fast they get to you. Either way, the Project will send a team to come collect you."

"And you're sure you'll be part of it?" Jack asked.

Dr. Tau nodded. "It's what I do. Fetch and carry." There was just the barest hint of bitterness to the words. "Standard team is myself, one driver, one guard, and the Interviewers. I'll request a second guard. After what happened with Mr. Jones, I don't think anyone will question me." Andy gave Gwen a significant glance at that, the subtle reminder that Ianto had indeed fought, and fought hard. "When we reach the hospital, the Interviewers will split off to collect witness statements, leaving myself, two guards, and one driver." He glanced up at Jack and Andy. "I don't think I need to tell you what to do from then on."

Jack frowned. "You said they searched every vehicle going in and coming out."

"With one exception," Dr. Tau said, quietly. "Because we needed to make sure that Mr. Jones was secured and sedated, they rushed the ambulance through without much more than a cursory glance." He glanced back at Gwen. "You don't even really need to fight us," he said. "Just don't act too unconscious."

She managed a smile for him. "Think I can do that," she said.

"Good." He smiled back. "Captain Hart will take you to your hotel tomorrow morning. Check in, drop your belongings off, then start looking for Captain Hart. Flash your badge. Be visible. I--" He stopped, then, and looked at her. "I don't need to tell you any of this, do I?"

"Not really, no," Gwen said, quietly.

"Sorry," Dr. Tau said, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. "I-- Anyway. There's an Indian takeaway, just a block down from your hotel. Meet me there at six o'clock, and I'll take you back here, so we can go through the plans in more detail. I'd stay and do it tonight, but... well. Can't afford to be gone for too long, in case they decide to check up on me."

"Just out of curiosity," Jack said, holding a hand out to stop Dr. Tau standing up. "What would happen if the Project got suspicious of you? Or if they got wind that we were here?"

"Well." Dr. Tau rocked back on his heels, pressing his hands together in front of his lips. "As I've said, if the Project were to think that Mrs. Cooper were here to investigate them, or to rescue Mr. Jones, they would take any necessary steps to prevent her finding them. The Facility would go into lockdown and the Guard would be increased drastically. If they were certain, absolutely certain that Mrs. Cooper knew of their existence, they would attempt to kill her. Or take hostages in order to frighten her off. Or both. If they discovered that Officer Davidson were involved, or Archie, the response would be the same." Dr. Tau frowned up at Jack. "If they knew that _you_ were here--"

"I probably don't want to know," Jack said. "And you're dodging the interesting part of the question, Dr. Tau. What if they got suspicious of _you_?"

Dr. Tau shook his head, took in a deep breath. "That's harder to answer," he said, after a long pause. "Because the truth is, Captain Harkness, that they _are_ already suspicious of me. Or they ought to be. I'm not--" He shook his head again. "They should have terminated me." His voice was very quiet, but his eyes were fixed on Jack's, and his face was very open. "On at least two occasions, I have been compromised, beyond -- I thought I was done. I thought they would kill me. But they didn't. I have violated protocol, I have directly disobeyed my superiors... I should be dead. Someone is keeping me alive, Captain Harkness. Someone, with some... agenda, is protecting me. And I don't know who, and I don't know why, and I don't know how much longer it's going to last. It is entirely possible that I will be killed the moment they know you're in the building; that they're using me to get to you, and that once they've got you, I'm done."

"And so is Gwen," Jack said, his voice steely. "Not to mention Andy. Possibly even John. And--"

"Yes, because I forced you all here at gunpoint, and now the army that's waiting outside is preventing you from leaving," Hart drawled. "Oh, and don't forget the--"

"That's enough," Dr. Tau said, giving Hart a warning glance. His face softened when he turned back to look at Gwen, Jack, and Andy, side-by-side on Archie's sofa. "You don't have to stay, if you don't feel it's safe. I'll arrange for your transportation back to Cardiff; if something... If it goes well, I'll find a way to contact you, let you know that Mr. Jones is free, if you wanted to see him."

Gwen studied him. "You'd still go ahead with it, though? Trying to get him out?"

Dr. Tau gave her a half-smile. "Well, the plans would obviously have to be changed a bit, and I can't say I'd be particularly optimistic about our outcome, but... Yes. Yes, I would."

"Not, of course, that he'd be doing it alone," Hart added, with a pointed look at Jack. Dr. Tau gave him a grateful smile.

Jack ignored his old partner, focusing on the doctor crouched in front of him. "Why?" he asked, quietly. "Why risk yourself for someone you don't even know? As far as you know, he might not even be human. He might be--"

Dr. Tau's eyebrow shot up. "Captain Harkness, I handled Mr. Jones's DNA profile personally. Believe me, he _is_ human. More than that, everything matches. Blood type, fingerprints, retinal scans -- his mRNA is a match for his sister's, and there are no other children. I can't entirely rule out cloning, but there is no technology that we are currently aware of, alien or otherwise, that can produce a cloned organism of this biological complexity without it degrading within months, if not years. Let alone an organism capable of bringing itself back from the dead." Jack leaned back a little on the sofa, almost smiling; Dr. Tau dropped his head and took a few deep breaths, obviously bringing himself under control. "And even if he wasn't human," Dr. Tau said, finally, "it doesn't matter."

Jack leaned in, the smile dropping from his face. "Then what does?"

"I--" Dr. Tau swallowed, nervously, turning his face away. "This is my fault," he said, finally.

"You were the one who collected Ianto from London," Jack said, his voice almost kind. "Right?"

Dr. Tau nodded. "He was conscious. Not... lucid, exactly, but conscious. He wasn't fighting; not at first, that came later. He was just..." Dr. Tau finally looked up, his eyes haunted. "He was trying to reason with us. He kept talking about the 456, about the children. That we had to let him go. We had to let him _help_."

"You said that there were guards. I'm assuming they'd have just... let you go? Or would you have been able to fight them off?"

"I don't know," Dr. Tau said, with surprising vehemence. "I don't know because it never occurred to me to try. I never thought for a second... I gave him more sedatives, strapped him to a trolley, and put him in the ambulance without ever asking myself if I was doing the right thing. I was so..." He pressed a hand to his lips, as if forcing the words back. "I probably wouldn't have been able to help him. I'd have been killed, and then... I don't know. But it never even occurred to me that I should have tried, Captain Harkness. And it should have. It should have."

He bowed his head.

Jack looked at him for a long time, just watching. "You should get going," he said, finally. "Don't want the Project to notice you've been gone. Tomorrow night, then?"

Dr. Tau's head shot up; the shock on his face painfully evident. "Yes," he said, finally. "Yes, of course. I..." He stopped short of thanking them, thanking Jack, but the look in his eyes was enough. "Yes," he said again, his voice a little firmer. "I'll see you then."

He pushed himself back up to his feet, slipping into his coat, wrapping himself back up in his scarf. He stopped at the door, resting his fingers on it, before turning around. "Also, since none of you asked -- I gave each of you two folders. The one on the top is about you, of course. The one underneath is about me. I didn't think it was fair, otherwise. Mine is, unfortunately, a bit limited -- there are certain things that I don't have access to. But it might help." He looked hard at Jack for a moment. "I will have to ask you not to hack into the Project's servers at this point. Should they notice the intrusion--"

"Lockdown, guards, etcetera," Jack said, with a sigh. Dr. Tau gave him a look, and Jack raised his hands in surrender. "I promise. No hacking."

"Thank you," Dr. Tau said. For a moment, he looked at them all, just looked at them. Then he nodded to Archie, undid each of the locks with nimble fingers, and slipped through the door without a backwards glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still shipping Martha/Mickey, btw.


	3. Old Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many things are discussed, including love, death, family, Morse Code, and a ship called the Valiant.

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: INCIDENT REPORT 4/11, Subject Interview (transcript) [excerpt]
> 
> INTERVIEWER: So you don't think Captain Hart came to rescue you?
> 
> IJ 3927 (SUBJECT): Of course not. Why would he?
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: Unless he was going to give me to Jack as some sort of present, like he tried to do with Gray. Then I could turn evil and mad and somehow manage to coerce Hart into blowing some things up for me. Which could be fun, depending on what we blow up.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: You think Captain Harkness may have sent him?
> 
> IJ 3927: You focus on the strangest things sometimes.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Do you think Captain Harkness sent him?
> 
> IJ 3927: No. I don't. Jack wouldn't send someone else to do his job. And he certainly wouldn't send Hart.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Then why do you think Captain Hart would come here?
> 
> IJ 3927: I don't know. To gloat, maybe? See if he could find any good-looking doctors to kidnap? He must be pretty pleased with himself if that's the case. He got the best of the lot of you.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: And no, I don't think my doctor was somehow involved in this. I don't think he let Hart in, and I don't think he let himself be taken. He was shocked as anything when Hart grabbed him.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Your doctor? Which doctor would that be?
> 
> IJ 3927: It's not as if I know any of your names. The dark-haired one. The one that Hart kidnapped.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: You think of him as your doctor. Like a personal physician, perhaps, or...
> 
> IJ 3927: Like the only doctor in this place who hasn't killed me at least twice. How's that?
> 
> INTERVIEWER: You've grown fond of him.
> 
> [pause]

*

_Jack had Ianto down on his knees, hands behind his head, Jack's gun pointed straight between Ianto's eyes and Gwen couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as the two men stared each other down. "I was struck down in battle," Ianto said, jaw tight, just barely shaking. "You owe me, Jack. You have to find a cure."_

_"You're already dead," Jack said, and fired, and Gwen couldn't even scream, could do nothing as Ianto fell back, laughing, laughing, blood spreading across his chest, and Ianto lay there, and he laughed. "I killed you!"_

_"I can't die," Ianto said, laughing, and Jack fired again, and Ianto's body lurched and fell back, and he was still laughing. "Not gonna die. Never gonna die." His voice was sing-song, turning savage when he added, "This is your fault, Jack."_

_And Jack kept firing, the report loud in Gwen's ears even as she turned and ran, Ianto's voice behind her, "O Captain, my Captain--" and the flicker of white robes, a white hand reaching out and she dodged it, running and running down metal floors, metal corridors, the sound of gunfire, but she was the one shooting now, men in black uniforms falling on either side of her, and somewhere in the distance she could hear Jack shouting, but she couldn't make out the words over all the gunfire._

_Then there was a door at the end of the hall, swinging open, and she stopped, raising her gun, bracing herself. And it was Ianto coming out, but he was gone wrong, draped in metal and his face was flat, his footsteps heavy and loud. He was pushing Dr. Tau out in front of him like a shield, one hand holding Dr. Tau's arm twisted behind his back, the other arm (metal over pale skin) wrapped around Dr. Tau's throat._

_"We can save him," Dr. Tau gasped, even as the grip tightened, choking him. "We owe him."_

_And she couldn't move, and she couldn't breathe, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear Jack shouting, "Gwen! Gwen!"_

"Gwen?"

She jerked awake, papers spilling off her lap, eyes opening wide as she tried to re-orient herself, still gasping. It was dim, the room lightened only by the traces of streetlights coming in from outside, and a dim blue glow, which she thought might be a computer. She turned to look, and suddenly Jack's face was right there, right next to her, and she gasped again and flinched backwards into the couch cushions.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, trying for soothing and almost succeeding. "It's all right. It's only me, Gwen. It's only me."

_Jack with a gun to Ianto's head. Jack shooting him, over and over and..._

Gwen shut her eyes tight and shook her head. Dreams, that's all it was. "Sorry," she said, and took a deep breath, eyes still closed. When she opened them again, Jack had backed off a little bit, started to clear up the papers on the floor. When Gwen shifted, sitting up, she could hear papers crumpling under her arse, and winced. "I must have dozed off. What were we--"

"Gwen, it's past four in the morning. You've been out for six hours at least." Jack's rueful grin faded into a look of concern. "Not sleeping much, these days?"

The thought of telling him about her dreams, all of her dreams, came and went as fast as lightning. "Still recovering from Eddie's early days, I think," she lied, pulling a thick sheaf of papers from underneath her legs. "Not much of a sleeper, that boy."

"Yeah, they'll do that to you," Jack said. "I remember with Alice..." His voice died, then, and he quickly turned back to sorting through the papers in his hands.

Gwen did the same, staring down at the papers she'd unearthed from the creases of the sofa, trying to smooth them back into some semblance of neatness. It took her a moment to realize that she was reading the same word, over and over again: _[redacted.][redacted.][redacted.]_ "Jack?" she asked, holding the paper out with somewhat shaky hands.

He laughed, a sound with no joy or humor in it. "Oh, right. That one's mine." He took the paper from her, placed it carefully in its file. "Yeah, it looks like there's a few things Dr. Tau's not supposed to know about me. Or a few things he doesn't want me to know about myself, although I don't think he'd be this clumsy about it."

The next page was the same, and the one after it. _[redacted.][redacted.][redacted.]_ She thrust the bundle at Jack, quickly. He took the papers without looking up at her.

"There's a pattern," he murmured, absently. "Can't quite put my finger on it, but there's..." He shook his head. "I don't know. There's something, though. Something they're trying to hide."

"Think it's related to this?" Gwen asked, unable to stop herself leaning in. Patterns. She was usually good with finding patterns.

"Couldn't say." Jack shrugged, flipping absently through the rest of the pages. "Wouldn't surprise me." He laughed, and it was bitter and hard to listen to. "Probably shouldn't say that. Every time I think I can't be surprised..." He sighed and stuffed the rest of his papers back into their file.

"I could--" Jack raised an eyebrow at her, and she stopped short, realizing that he'd obviously not be too keen on letting her read the full report of his life, looking for patterns in it. "I'll get you a cup of tea," she said, pushing herself off the sofa.

He stood, too, looming over her, still as tall and broad-shouldered and imposing as he'd ever been. "You should go back to sleep," he said, quietly. "I'll just--"

"Thought we had a rule about you not giving me orders anymore, Jack," Gwen said, smiling at him to try and take some of the sting out of it. He ducked his head and turned away, and she touched the back of his arm. "Even if I wanted to, I'm not getting back to sleep. Not tonight. And since you're obviously not tired..."

Jack turned, looking down at her for a moment. There was an expression on his face that she couldn't quite name. Then he bent down and kissed her cheek. "Tea it is, then," he said, and led the way into the kitchenette before Gwen could figure out what had happened.

She thought, maybe, that she'd forgiven him a little bit.

"It's funny," Jack said, pushing through a beaded curtain and into the kitchenette. It was even smaller than the one at the Hub had been, with shelves full of strangely shaped biscuit tins. Gwen wondered if they were alien. Alien biscuit tins. Owen would have had a good laugh about that one. "There's always time for a cup of tea, isn't there? Even if the world is ending, there's a massive temporal paradox happening, and the Prime Minister is an insane alien mastermind bent on conquering the universe, there's still--"

"Did that really happen?" Gwen asked, picking up a jar of instant coffee from the shelf and shaking it in her hand. It looked to be about a century old; Archie must have unearthed it specifically for them. "An alien was the Prime Minister?"

Jack poured water into the electric kettle and plugged it in. Gwen rather thought he was purposely keeping his back to her. "It... Kind of. It's hard to explain."

Gwen frowned, thinking for a bit. "This would be the temporal paradox that was previously mentioned, then."

"Yeah." A rummage through the cupboards for mugs, sorting through tea tins until he found the one he wanted. He was definitely not looking at Gwen. "Ending the paradox reset time, which erased everything. Well, mostly everything. We still had an alien Prime Minister, but it was only for a day or two, not... you know, a year."

_Prime Minister for a day._ It pinged something deep inside her, some memory that wouldn't quite come to the surface. "But if it didn't happen, then how do you--"

"I was at the epicenter when it happened." Jack had stopped rummaging, stopped moving entirely; his hands rested on the countertop, trembling just a little bit. "You remember when John came through the Rift, the first time? We threw that bomb into the Rift, and when it exploded, it-- Well. It reset time. But we all remembered it. It's the same thing."

Right after Jack came back from his trip from the Doctor, when he wouldn't say where he'd been. Right after Harold Saxon had vanished. He'd only been Prime Minister for... two days, perhaps? And he'd been the one behind the Project, at least according to Archie's reckoning, and... "Jack," Gwen said, but didn't continue. Couldn't, not with the way he'd tensed up, shoulders hunched beneath the greatcoat and all at once, he was so fragile. "I... Is there milk, or does Archie not believe in that?"

Jack let out a slow breath. Relief, probably. "Just don't let him see you polluting good tea with it," he said. "It's in the fridge. And Gwen?" When she turned, he was staring down at the kettle, speaking to it and not to her. "If that really is... If it's really Ianto, that those people are holding... He's not going to be the same. Not after something like this. It... it changes people."

_I died_ , Jack had told her, after he'd come back. _I died so many times._

"I know," she said, and ducked behind the open refrigerator door before he could see the way her eyes had welled up again.

*

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: INCIDENT REPORT, 4/11
> 
> At approximately 0900 hours, Shield Program alerted security staff to the presence of an unknown intruder in the Project's Main Facility. Intruder was at this time approximately 400 meters from observation room where Subject was being held, and appeared to have entered the building through the use of a Vortex Manipulator [see File: Shield Program, Report: Vortex Energy Detection]. Security staff converged on the location and discovered a Time Agent currently operating under the alias of Captain John Hart [see File: JH 7172, Report: Known Allies and Connections] on the verge of entering the observation room and reaching the Subject. Before security staff could neutralize the threat, the Time Agent managed to enter the observation room and take a member of the medical staff hostage. [see File: ST 0963, Report: INCIDENT REPORT, 4/11]. Although the Shield Program was at full functional capacity, the Time Agent was somehow able to circumvent the block on his teleportation ability and flee the scene, taking the member of medical staff with him.
> 
> The whereabouts of the Time Agent and ST 0963 are currently unknown. It is not known whether ST 0963 was an accomplice of the Time Agent's, or if either he or the Time Agent were responsible for the failure of the Shield Program. Should ST 0963 or any other member of the Project's staff be determined to have caused either the intrusion, the kidnapping of a member of staff, or the failure of the Shield Program, said staff member will be immediately terminated in accordance with protocol.

*

"Gwen!" The relief in Rhys's voice was palpable, even across all those miles. "Everything all right, then? All... arrived, safely, and all of that?"

"Yes, yes, just checked in at the hotel." Gwen glanced around her room, at the duffel bag, contents spilling out over the floor, the laptop left open on the bed, as if she was in the midst of checking something. It wasn't a bad room, really -- lovely large bed, private balcony, all the rest of it. She wondered where the bugs were, all the little recording devices and monitors and the rest of it. Phone, definitely. Smoke detector, most likely. Television, perhaps. Were there any cameras? She cringed at the thought. "How's the home front? Is His Highness behaving himself?"

"Ah, it's not been so bad, really. Wanting a bit more attention, maybe, but that's to be expected. Thought I'd take him to the park in a bit, let him... I don't know, eat sand. And bugs. Sand and bugs. Maybe see if that little blonde girl's there; he can pull her hair and then try to make off with her toys again, like last time."

Gwen opened a drawer, found it empty, closed it again. "He's flirting. Takes after his dad, he does."

"Got to start them young." Gwen opened another drawer (also empty), and closed it. "So. Have you... have you gone in to see Gran, yet?"

And of course her husband would have already realized she couldn't tell him what she was doing or where she was, and of course he'd have already figured out a cover for her, because her husband was brilliant. "Haven't been able," she said, sinking down on the bed. "Her doctors say she's not ready for visitors just yet. But I'll let you know as soon as I get in."

"But you've talked to them? Her doctors, I mean?"

"Just the one," Gwen said. "He's good, though. I mean, he seems to really care what happens, so... At least she's in good hands, right?"

"Yeah. Guess so." Rhys was quiet for a moment; in the background, Gwen could hear her son, gabbling and cooing away, banging at the tray of his high chair. "Well, and your Gran's always been pretty tough, hasn't she? All your people are."

"Your people, too. You've married into this lot now. For better or for worse."

It wasn't until Rhys's silence stretched several beats longer than it ought to have that Gwen realized just what she'd said. She wondered if she ought to correct herself, amend the statement, try to reassure him. But none of those options sounded like good ones, so she just waited, until he let out a sigh and said, "Guess I did, at that. Bit like marrying into the mob, isn't?"

"We're not that bad," Gwen protested. "Well. Most of us aren't."

"Yes, speaking of that. What's that Ca--" He caught himself before Jack's title slipped out. "That _cousin_ of yours. Jack. He still around, or has he run off again and left you to handle everything?"

Gwen sighed, shaking her head. "It's not that easy for him, Rhys. You know he and Gran... It's different, their relationship." _Different_ was probably putting it mildly, at that. As much as Gwen had loved both Jack and Ianto, and as aware as she'd been that they'd made each other happy, she'd never quite been able to put a finger on what they meant to each other. Which was probably the point. "It's been a hard few years for him."

"Not just him," Rhys muttered.

"Rhys." Gwen glanced at the clock; she'd have to get out on the streets soon, start being noticeable. The thought made her stomach twist. "After all he lost, and all at once? Yes, he's taking this badly, and no, I'm not happy about it. But it's hard to blame him, after everything."

"I know." Rhys's voice was quiet, maybe a bit thoughtful. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, and Gwen was painfully aware that she had to go, had to keep moving, but she couldn't bear to cut the conversation off, either, just in case. "I wonder sometimes if... how it might have been different if..." He trailed off.

"I do, too." She wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but it didn't matter. If Ianto hadn't gone into Thames House. If it had been Rhys instead, or maybe even Gwen herself. She'd thought about all three, about all the things that might have been, if Jack had gone in alone, if they'd brought a suit or something for Ianto, if Tosh hadn't died, or Owen, or both of them, if if if and it never changed anything, but it didn't stop her wondering if it couldn't have been different somehow.

Rhys sighed. Then he made a faintly disgusted noise. "Sorry, love, I'd better go. I think someone needs a change of nappies."

Gwen laughed; she couldn't help it. "Bad, is it?"

"I'll spare you the details; you've enough on your plate as is. Give Gran my love when you see her. And keep an eye on that cousin of yours, will you?"

"I'll do my best." She only hesitated a second before adding, "Rhys? I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. And I'll give Eddie a kiss from you. Only not, you know, now."

"Best not to," Gwen agreed. "I'll see you soon, darling. I love you."

"Love you, too," Rhys said, again, and then, "bye," and then he was gone.

Gwen sat on the bed for a minute, the laptop open next to her. Her duffel bag was still unzipped and spilling its contents over the floor by the wardrobe, the black UNIT kit prominent at the top. She shuddered, suddenly unwilling to make herself leave the hotel and go out into the streets. Then she took a deep breath, pushed herself to her feet, checked her gun and her fake UNIT badge, and left the room without looking back once.

*

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: INCIDENT REPORT 4/11, Debriefing -- ST 0963 (transcript) [excerpt]
> 
> ST 0963 (MEDICAL STAFF): He said... Oh God, what was it... He said I was a "real find." Those were his words, exactly. And he started... He began to describe my appearance. In... in some detail.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Was there anything that seemed like it might be meaningful out of it? Some hint to his goals, why he came to the Facility, or...
> 
> ST 0963: Not that I can think of.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: And after that, did he--
> 
> ST 0963: Wait. There was... He said that he thought Jack would like me. That I was Jack's type.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Meaning Captain Jack Harkness?
> 
> ST 0963: I believe so, yes.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: What were his exact words?
> 
> ST 0963: I don't remember.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Did he say that Jack "would" like you or that Jack "is going" to like you?
> 
> ST 0963: He said...
> 
> [pause]
> 
> ST 0963: I'm sorry. I really don't remember.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Think about it for a moment. What was the exact phrasing that he used?
> 
> ST 0963: I... You do realize that sodium thiopental is not actually a truth serum, don't you? It loosens your inhibitions, it makes you talk, but it doesn't--
> 
> [pause]
> 
> ST 0963: So this is what it's like, being on the other side.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: I'm not sure I'm following you. The other side of what?
> 
> ST 0963: Nothing. I... It doesn't matter.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: I see. And you don't remember what, exactly, Captain Hart said.
> 
> ST 0963: No. I don't.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Witholding pertininent information is grounds for termination from the Project.
> 
> ST 0963: I was captured by a known enemy of the Project, transported away from the Facility, and drugged. I believe those are also grounds for termination.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: If you believed that you would not be terminated, would you be more willing to comply with--
> 
> ST 0963: I am complying. I just don't remember what he said.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: I see.
> 
> ST 0963: I was dizzy, I was frightened, I was...
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Of course. No one is accusing you of anything. I merely want the record to accurately reflect your experience.
> 
> ST 0963: Of course.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Any decisions to be made regarding your status with the Project will be made by the Board, once they've reviewed all relevant information. Including this interview.
> 
> ST 0963: Of course.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Now. You're certain you don't remember what Captain Hart said?

*

Gwen looked back over her shoulder, then in the other direction. A low mist had settled in, shrouding the dim streets, and what CCTV coverage there might have been in this area looked to have been temporarily taken out by vandals (or not by vandals, given Captain Hart's talent for hiding his own presence, and the presence of anyone else he cared to), but she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It had been growing on her all day, ever since she'd left the hotel and set out to make herself a target. It was a fine line she was treading, trying to keep the Project's eyes on her without ever letting them see what she was doing, and one misstep could ruin everything.

Footsteps sounded on the street, and she shrank back into the shadows without thinking, huddling into her coat. A tall, thin man with floppy hair and a wholly incongruous bowtie ambled past, giving her a smile and a wink before disappearing into the curry shop next to her. It was several seconds before she finally let her breath out in a sigh of relief. But almost as soon as she'd relaxed, she caught sight of headlights piercing the early-evening gloom, and she tensed up again.

It was a sedan, silver or maybe a very light gold, like Ianto's had been. Sleek without being flashy. Practical. It was, in fact, _very_ like Ianto's car, and perhaps that was why Gwen wasn't surprised to see Dr. Tau climbing out of it, his topcoat swirling around his ankles, face muffled in his scarf. He left the engine running, didn't lock the doors. As he passed, he looked straight at her, just for a second, and nodded. Then he vanished into the curry shop without a word.

Gwen counted to ten. Then, with her collar pulled high and her shoulders hunched in, she hurried to Dr. Tau's car, slid into the passenger's seat, and shut the door behind her. She sank into the seat, trying to make herself as invisible as possible, and waited.

Four minutes passed. Five. There was a strange buzzing sound coming from the radio; it was familiar, but Gwen couldn't quite place it. Six minutes. Gwen dug her mobile from her pocket, brought it close to the radio. The buzzing got louder. Seven minutes. What was it Tosh had said about remote bugs? She'd had this gadget-- Gwen remembered that much-- it had a sort of spinny thing on the end of it, and Owen'd said she was going about it all wrong, that she was making it too complicated, that--

At eight minutes thirty, Dr. Tau slid in at the driver's side with an armful of takeaway, saw Gwen holding her phone up to the radio, with the buzzing still going, and actually smiled. "One sec," he mouthed, turning to deposit their dinner in the backseat. Then he took her phone from her nerveless fingers, flipped it open, and turned it off. The buzzing kept going. He shut the phone again, opened the back cover, and took the battery out.

The buzzing stopped.

Gwen felt distinctly stupid, her cheeks flaming as she took her phone (and its battery) back. She couldn't meet Dr. Tau's eyes, so it surprised her that he sounded so apologetic when he said, "A friend of mine taught me that. It's a bit primitive, but it does get the job done. Of course, you can't use the phone now."

"That's all right," Gwen murmured. The little car purred faintly as they pulled away from the curb, down the rapidly darkening streets. There was another blue police box on the corner. Glasgow was littered with them, seemed like. "Rhys won't mind if the phone is off. He'll understand."

"You can put the battery back in when we get to Torchwood Two," Dr. Tau said. "Archie's got this... well, I'm not really sure how it works, but I trust him when he says that it does. And, of course, John's vortex manipulator kills any tracking signals within a ten-meter radius." He gave her a sidelong glance before adding, "Although he'll claim that you really have to be a good deal closer."

Gwen turned to look at him, to study him for a bit. "Do you trust him?" she asked. When Dr. Tau blinked at her, she clarified. "Captain Hart, I mean. Do you trust him?"

Dr. Tau chewed his lip. "I do," he said, finally, his voice thoughtful. "But then, I don't really have much choice, do I? If it was different, if it wasn't... I can't say for sure that I would, otherwise." He paused for a moment. "I know what my parents would think."

"So you and he..." Gwen didn't elaborate, didn't need to. It was obvious by the flush on Simon's face that he knew just what she was talking about.

"We... ah..." He rubbed at the back of his neck, laughed, embarrassed. "A few times, back at the beginning. I think he wanted... I think he felt he had to _convince_ me, and that... that was his way of doing it. I don't know if we should be talking about this, there might be other bugs in the car or..."

Gwen frowned, trying to work it out in her head. "But I thought... I mean, you found him, right? So wouldn't--"

"Oh no." Simon laughed again, carefully steering the car through a corner. "God no. I wouldn't have even known where to start. No, he found me. Kidnapped me, actually. It's kind of a funny story..." Glancing at her, he trailed off. "What?"

"It's just... How did he know about Ianto, then? If you weren't the one to tell him."

Simon didn't answer her, not right away. He pulled up outside of Archie's flat, stopped the car, and turned it off. Neither of them moved to get out of it, and finally, Simon spoke. "I don't know," he said, quietly. "I never thought to ask. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't answer me if I did, or if he did answer, that it wouldn't be true."

Gwen opened her mouth to ask another question, to press him further, but Simon stopped her with an upraised hand. "I do know, however, that he isn't going to betray us. Not with this. He wants Ianto free, as much as any of us do. More, quite possibly. He wouldn't jeopardize that."

"Why?" It was all Gwen could think of to ask.

"I don't know," Simon said. He shook his head. "I really don't."

Then, without another word, he climbed out of the car.

*

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: INCIDENT REPORT 4/11, Final Status Decision re: ST 0963
> 
> Although medical staff member ST 0963 was captured by a known enemy of the Project, he was not held for any significant length of time, nor does it appear that he divulged any information to said enemy. There is no evidence to suggest that he was in any way complicit with the break-in at the Project's main facility, nor that he had anything to do with the enemy's subsequent escape. Nor is there any reason to believe that ST 0963 would attempt to engage said enemy again for any reason upon his resumption of normal duties. ST 0963 has furthermore been compliant with the methods and goals of this investigation, and although aware of the risk of termination should he have been judged to be responsible for any aspect of this incident, he does not appear to have attempted to sabotage the investigation, nor to engage in any other act that might harm the Project. It is the conclusion of the Board that ST 0963 should be immediately returned to his normal duties, without probationary period, and with no need for another member of medical staff to shepherd him through his duties. Furthermore, it is the conclusion of the Board that the current monitoring of ST 0963 is adequate, and that there is no need for any additional surveillance.
> 
> Further investigation as to the cause and motives of the break-in at the Project's main Facility shall be continued, as will all investigations into the current whereabouts of Captain John Hart. Any staff member proven to have had contact with or to have assisted Captain John Hart shall be subject to termination in accordance with current protocol.

*

Gwen couldn't keep her eyes off Hart, watching his expressions as he hunched behind Simon, studying the Facility's blueprints spread out on the floor of Archie's flat.

"There's an empty Observation room here, just down the hall from Mr. Jones," Simon explained, tapping the blueprints to point out the room. "That's where we'll take Mrs. Cooper. Once Captain Hart starts his... his distraction, we'll be able to get out and down to Mr. Jones. He's kept sedated, of course, but I've been... altering the doses as much as I can, and it shouldn't take much to bring him around. There is, though... I'm not sure if..."

Simon fell silent, then, his hand trembling on the map, and Gwen looked to Jack in alarm. "What's wrong?" Jack asked, his voice quiet.

"I'm losing him." Simon looked up at Jack, his eyes troubled. "There's... He isn't always... aware. Of where he is, or what's happening. I thought it was the drugs, at first; the combination's pretty potent and it's not like we've been moderate with the dosage, but... I've been lowering them for weeks now. Diluting them. But it's not getting any better. If anything, it's getting worse. I can bring him around, given enough time, but..."

"We may not have that time," Jack finished. His voice was calm enough, but his face was pained.

_He's not going to be the same. Not after something like this._

"I have no idea how he's going to react to seeing the two of you," Simon said, glancing at Gwen, then at Jack. "You especially, Captain Harkness. He... When he's not lucid, when he's... He seems to think that you're being held as well. That we've got you in chains. In the 'engine room,' although I'm not sure where he's getting that, since we don't..." He frowned, studying Jack carefully; Jack was holding himself rigid, his face suspiciously blank. "It's possible that he's remembering something that happened to the two of you, some time that the two of you were held captive under similar circumstances. There's nothing in the files to suggest such a thing ever happened, but--"

"How have you been bringing him around?" Jack asked, cutting him off.

Simon studied him a little longer, before sighing and leaning back. "Morse code," he said. "We've been using it to communicate-- the room is heavily monitored, of course, but if we keep the movements small and the sound relatively quiet, it doesn't show up on the cameras or in the mics. It works best when there's physical contact; I think the element of tactile stimulation helps to..." Apparently Jack didn't seem to quite understand; Simon sighed again, then reached across the blueprints to clasp Jack's hand. "Like this," he said, tapping lightly on the back of Jack's hand with one finger.

For a moment, Gwen thought Jack would pull away, but then he closed his eyes, as if to better focus on the message being passed from Simon to himself. When Simon withdrew, Jack didn't open his eyes. "TW1?" he asked, quietly.

"It's his call sign," Simon said. "Not sure where it comes from, but that's what it is. 'SAFE' and 'HOME' are our key words; he tends to respond strongly to them, snaps out of it faster. And 'NO SHIP' -- when he's... not aware, that's usually where he thinks he is. On a ship of some sort. I..." He stopped before he could say what he was about to say, or ask what he was about to ask, and shook his head. "You should introduce yourself first. Then start in on his key words. Don't say anything more, or attempt to explain things; it won't sink in. You'll probably have to repeat yourself a few times. Just be patient. You'll know when he's come out of it."

"But you'll be there," Andy said, hesitantly. "Won't you? I mean, once we've got him out and everything, you'll be helping us take care of him. Right?"

Simon glanced over at Andy. "I don't know," he said, quietly. "Getting to Mr. Jones is the easy part. Getting him out... Most of the active Security force will be sent to the Guard Station, to deal with Captain Hart. The rest will be dispatched to guard the exits, and to guard the Subjects. If we're lucky, we'll have just enough time to get Mr. Jones on his feet; I'll have a wheelchair ready in his room if that doesn't seem feasible. After that..." He shrugged. "After that we fight our way free."

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "You've fired a gun before?"

"I--" Another look over the shoulder at Hart; the Time Agent had turned suddenly smug, and a blush was starting at the top of Simon's cheekbones. Gwen remembered her gun training sessions with Jack, and couldn't quite suppress a roll of her eyes. "A few times. I wouldn't say I'm particularly good at it, but I'll do my best."

"Oh, come now. You weren't as bad as all that." Hart's tone was less crude than Gwen had expected, albeit not by very much. "Could do with more practice, I'll grant you, but you've got a steady hand." He paused for just a moment before adding, "Very firm grip. And a good--"

"This isn't like shooting at paper targets, you know," Jack said. "They'll be moving, firing back, shouting... screaming. Are you sure you're going to be ready for that?"

Simon shook his head. "No," he said, calmly. "I'm not sure it's possible to be ready for something like that. But I'll try."

Jack turned to look at Andy. "How about you? John said he was going to show you--"

Hart cleared his throat. "Not necessary, as it turns out. Your PC Davidson is quite the marksman. Although I'd thought the police in this part of the world didn't carry firearms."

Gwen stared at Andy, a bit shocked. He looked down at his hands. "Well. I mean, with half the city blown up and those weevil things everywhere and only the three of you to stop them and God knows what else we've got in Cardiff... It made sense, really, to have a bit more than just some pepper spray and a baton to defend myself with. Let alone other people; I mean..."

"Andy," Gwen said, quietly. "Who taught you to fire a gun, if it wasn't Captain Hart?"

Andy finally met her gaze, his own eyes somewhat defiant. " _He_ did," he said, quietly. "Ianto did."

"And he took you to Flat Holm, didn't he? Introduced you around. Explained what you needed to do." It had never occurred to Gwen to ask how Andy'd known what needed to be done, why he was so ready to take over. She'd just let him do it, no questions, no doubts, and he'd stepped in as unceremoniously as Ianto would've. Doing what needed to be done.

"Reckon he didn't want the two of you to be at loose ends should something happen to him," Andy said. "Didn't talk about it much, not really. Just sort of..."

Jack reached out and took Gwen's hand, squeezed it. She leaned slightly into his warmth. "How often have you used a gun, Andy? Apart from target practice. How many times?"

Andy shrugged. "Three times. Not this sort of situation, mind. Not... people. But I'll do what has to be done."

"Yeah," Jack said, quietly. "Yeah, I guess you will."

For some reason, Gwen felt drawn to look at Hart again; he was staring at Jack in the strangest way. His face was hard, but it wasn't angry. Determined, perhaps. For a moment, Gwen felt sure he was going to say something, reveal his motives with some slip of the tongue. Instead, he clapped his hands, and said, "Good. We're all ready to kill people. Fantastic. I'm sure your parents are very proud. Now, numbers. About how many do you think we'll be facing, Dr. Tau?"

Simon gave him a disbelieving look, then shook his head and turned back to the map, to his explanations and plans. "At any given time, there are at least thirty Security personnel on base. Once they get the call that there's a new Subject, they'll pull in more as a precautionary measure. It's hard to say for certain, but I'd estimate..."

*

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: Security Footage (transcript) [excerpt]
> 
> ST 0963 (MEDICAL STAFF): I'm told that you've been refusing your meals. Have you been experiencing any nausea, or loss of appetite?
> 
> IJ 3927 (SUBJECT): Perhaps I was worried about you.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: I did wonder if he was going to kill you. The poisoned lip gloss trick, maybe. He's very fond of that.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: He did, didn't he? [laughter] Oh, that's too good. I'll have to tell Gwen about that, when she comes. She'll feel better, knowing she's not the only one.
> 
> ST 0963: Gwen Cooper? Do you have reason to believe that she's coming here?
> 
> IJ 3927: She's done it before. When I was on the ship, she...
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: No. No, that can't be right. I...
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: Lately, my dreams have been particularly vivid. I suppose it's a side effect. Of the medication. Just... just dreaming, though.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: No nausea. My appetite's fine.
> 
> ST 0963: Would you like me to bring you something?
> 
> IJ 3927: Please.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: For the record, I'm actually rather relieved that you're not dead. Just... for the record.

*

Gwen lay on the camp bed until long after Archie's flat had fallen silent around her, mind racing, unable to sleep. She knew she should rest, knew she'd be sorry in the morning if she didn't, but knowing didn't help her. Not when that was pretty much the only thing she really _did_ know.

A bare handful of hours from now, she'd be back on the streets of Glasgow, wandering around with naught but her UNIT badge and her Torchwood-issued handgun to protect her. Assuming that Hart was honestly trying to help them, and that he wasn't betrayed or somehow captured himself, he'd come and poison her. Assuming that Simon was telling the truth about the drug he'd concocted for this adventure, she'd wake up an hour later. Assuming that she'd done her job and been noticeable enough, and that Simon had done his job and not been so noticeable that the Project became suspicious of him, he would come in an ambulance, collect Jack and Andy, subdue the guards that had travelled with them, and whisk Gwen off to the Facility. At which point, they would still have to gain access to the building, find Ianto, and hope that Hart's distraction would divert the majority of the guards away from them long enough for them to get out again.

Far, far too many assumptions. Nor could she really trust Hart, or Simon, for that matter. She knew so little about the doctor, who he was, what he really wanted. And everything she knew about Hart told her she was making a mistake.

At least she had Jack and Andy. She trusted Jack (most of the time), and she knew Andy wouldn't betray her. And that was something.

But it wasn't enough. It didn't make her feel safe. And as long as she didn't feel safe, she wasn't going to be able to sleep.

After staring at the ceiling a bit longer, she gave up, pushed herself up off the bed and padded to the door of her room. A cup of tea would be ideal. If Jack were awake, perhaps they could have a cup together. They wouldn't talk about anything important, and anything he said would probably make her feel worse than she had before, but it was still better than lying awake, doubting everything. And if Jack wasn't awake, or if he'd gone out, seeking solitude or a one night stand or just a decent coffee, she could at least occupy herself for five minutes or so.

As it happened, Jack was awake; she could hear him in Archie's room, talking. "It doesn't make sense," Jack said. "Even if they did have access to the TARDIS, that year never happened. We undid it. And anything they did..."

"Beg pardon, Jack, but you're assuming it took place during _that_ year." Archie's voice was pitched low, but it carried just enough for Gwen to hear it. "Granted, I'm not the expert here, but as the TARDIS is capable of traveling through time, couldn't it have happened before? Or after?"

Jack was quiet for a few moments; Gwen held her breath, waiting for a reply. Instead, she heard someone _else's_ voice, too soft for her to make out the words. She didn't think it sounded like Andy. Curious, she tore her eyes from Archie's door and padded down the hallway, leaving Jack's answer behind her.

One of the living room windows had been propped open, and a breeze crept in, cold and damp. Gwen shivered in her t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, wishing she'd thought to grab a jumper or something. In the dim light, she could see Andy curled up on the sofa; he fidgeted, childlike in his sleep. There was no sign of anyone else in the room, and for a moment, she almost thought she'd been hearing things.

"Absolutely not," the voice said, and it was definitely Hart. He'd gone out on the fire escape to give himself a bit of privacy, then. Gwen tucked herself into the shadow of a bookcase, wishing she could get closer to it without risking the artifacts perched on its shelves. "No, look, I've told you a thousand times. It's bad enough you're crossing your own timeline. Honestly, are you _trying_ to destroy the universe?" There was no answer that Gwen could hear. Mobile phone, probably. Or the wrist strap, although both times she'd seen him use it to communicate, there'd been glowing holograms and such involved, and it was obvious he was trying to keep this quiet. "And if he saw you, he'd kill you first and ask questions later, only there wouldn't be a later, because it would destroy the bloody universe." His voice raised a bit on the last words, and Andy stirred. "We're sticking to the plan," Hart said, and his voice was much quieter this time. "I know it's hard for you, but just be a good boy and do what you're told. It'll all be over soon." More silence, and then he sighed. "I'll see what I can do. I'll try, all right? Just do your job, for once. All right." More silence. "All right. Get some rest." She heard the sound of a mobile flipping shut, and then silence again.

Gwen huddled into the shadow of the bookshelf, wondering whether she should run and get Jack or just confront Hart there and then, when he took the choice from her hands. "Might as well come out, Gwen." She only hesitated a moment longer before climbing through the open window and onto the fire escape where he stood. The metal grate was freezing under her feet, and she would have given anything to be back home. "Impressive, though. I almost didn't know you were there. Almost."

"How did you know?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself as she studied him. His face was completely serious; impassive, almost.

He shrugged. "That's not what you came out here to ask me."

She raised her eyebrows, but he just looked back at her, calm as could be. "So. Who was that, then?"

"An old friend," he replied, turning to lean on the metal railing.

"An old friend who's crossing his own timeline?" Gwen hadn't spent all that much time around time travelers, but she knew, at least, what that meant.

Hart tapped his wrist strap. "Hazards of the job."

"The Time Agency?" Gwen's voice got a bit too loud, and Andy stirred again. Hart turned, giving her a warning glance. "Sorry," Gwen said, dropping back down to a whisper, although she wasn't sure why. She had no reason to trust Hart, after all, and every reason to wake the others up and have them help force the truth out of him. "But I thought... You told Jack..."

"It's the Time Agency, Gwen," he said, rather scornfully. "Yes, when I travelled back through the Rift the first time, they had disbanded. But this is a good decade before that, at least for them. Honestly, what linear time does to people."

She tried to wrap her head around that one, but gave it up as a bad job. "So you're working for them?" she asked, drifting to stand beside him, leaning against the railing like he did.

He glanced at her, sidelong, but she pretended to be staring at the skyline. "Like I said, I'm helping an old friend. Well, trying to keep him from blowing up the universe, at least. Not that he's grateful." He sighed. "Now he wants to be more involved. First he wanted to run away, and now he wants to be more involved. I think he's just hoping he'll get to shag himself, truthfully. He always was fixated on that."

Somehow, and she wasn't sure what it said about her (or Jack, really), that was the final clue that Gwen had needed. "Jack? You were talking to Jack?"

"I got a message from him, after that complete and total cock-up with the 456. Said he'd got himself into a mess, and needed me to get him out of it. I thought... Well, dead boyfriend and all, the man was bound to be depressed. Thought I'd take him around the galaxy for a bit, finally remind him who he was and what he's supposed to be like. Then I got here, and it wasn't the same Jack at all. It was mine. From the old days. In a very, _very_ , literal fashion." He glanced at her. "Is that enough, or do I need to put it into smaller words?"

Gwen would have been irritated, but she was too busy trying to sort things out. "But why is he here? What's he doing?"

Hart shrugged. "Same thing we are. Save the Teaboy, save the world. Or something like that. Problem is, in figuring out how best to save Ianto Jones, my Jack had to do a little bit of research into just who Ianto Jones was. Which led to him finding out about your Jack, which led to all sorts of trouble. See, Time Agents aren't supposed to be sent on missions where they wind up encountering their future selves. Or their past selves. Or any version of themselves at all. Leads to all sorts of problems. When _my_ Jack realized that he was going to turn into _your_ Jack, he realized that, at best, he was going to come out of this mission with a rather large hole in his memory. And that, Gwen Cooper, scared the shit out of him. So he called me."

"I don't understand," Gwen said, frowning. "If Time Agents aren't supposed to encounter their future selves--"

"Except that Jack _is_ supposed to lose his memory." Hart shook his head. "Don't tell me he hasn't told you about it. Used to be he couldn't shut up about it. The Time Agency stole two years of his memory. That's why he left them. If he doesn't leave, he doesn't meet the Doctor. If he doesn't meet the Doctor, he doesn't become immortal. If he doesn't become immortal--" Hart turned to look at her then, his eyes lost in shadow, his voice quiet and deadly serious. "Too many timelines depend on Jack Harkness's continued presence in the universe, not just now but all through time-- the past, the future, all of it comes down to him. Without him, Time will collapse in on itself. He's not a fixed point. He's the lynchpin. He's holding it all up."

For a long time, Gwen could just stare at Hart, trying to make sense of it. "And he was still going to run away?" she asked.

Another shrug, and Hart turned back to stare at the skyline. "He was always a selfish bastard," he said. "I think he figured that he could just run away and someone else would take his place. Ianto, maybe; after all, the poor bloke's immortal now, or close enough for government work. Unfortunately, it rather looks as though Ianto wouldn't be immortal at all if it weren't for his beloved Captain. And even if Jack's got nothing to do with it... Well. I'm as big a fan of Eye Candy as anyone else, but he and Jack are two very different people, bound to make different choices. You can't just swap him into Jack's place and hope that everything stays the same."

Gwen shivered, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. The stakes had been high to start with, but this... She felt fabric settling over her shoulders, and looked up to see Hart draping his red coat around her. "Bit much to take in, isn't it?" he asked. "So you can see why you wouldn't want to bring this up to Jack. He's not as selfish as he used to be, I'll grant you that, but I'm not sure he wouldn't try to wiggle his way out of this somehow. Well, and it's not like his life has been that easy. I'd try to dodge it, too."

"Your Jack's not going to be at the Facility, is he?" Gwen asked, feeling her hands tighten on the wool of John's coat, pulling it tighter around herself.

"He'll be well away by the time we get there," John said, but he sounded a bit uncertain. "And if he's not, well... Try not to let your Jack shoot mine. Mine can still die. And try not to let anyone else shoot him, either. I know Eye Candy would still take a bullet for him, but he's bound to be a bit confused, so it might be up to you. Hopefully not, but... end of the universe and all."

It was flip enough, but there was nothing casual in the way John looked at her when he said it. "I'll do what I have to," she said.

"I know you will," John said. His hand rested, briefly, on his shoulder. "You were a good team," he added. "I was a little bit jealous, really. Never any good at inspiring that kind of loyalty."

"He's had more practice," Gwen said. Then she slipped out of the jacket and handed it back to him. "Goodnight, John."

"See you in the morning," he said, voice following her as she crawled back through the open window.


	4. And the Season of Mists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is decided whether we are to run from our destinies or run to them.

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: Interview, 6/12 (transcript) [excerpt]
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Tell me about [redacted].
> 
> IJ 3927 (SUBJECT): Don't know if I can, really. It's just the one room. And the screen. I made it into the corridor once. Four whole feet. Metal. The walls were all metal.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: What was the room like?
> 
> IJ 3927: Like this one. White. White and chrome. Never turned the lights off. Probably why I'm remembering it now.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: I miss the screen. Jack's shirt was blue. Always the same blue shirt. But still, it wasn't white. Which is the main thing, really.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: My doctor wears a red tie sometimes, but it's just not the same.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Were there any experiments run? When you were [redacted]?
> 
> IJ 3927: No. They killed me a few times, when I was trying to get away. Once I gave up, they more or less left me alone. She visited me, sometimes.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: And by She, you mean [redacted].
> 
> IJ 3927: Yes.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: Did anyone else ever visit? Say, [redacted]? Did he visit you?
> 
> IJ 3927: He didn't know I was there. She kept it from him. Never quite knew why.
> 
> INTERVIEWER: And how long were you there?
> 
> IJ 3927: I don't know. No clock, no watches, nothing to carve lines in.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: Honestly, it was the same as here.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: There may have been experiments run on Jack. [redacted] certainly hurt him often enough. Don't think there was a reason behind it. I think he just liked it.
> 
> [pause]
> 
> IJ 3927: Is there a reason for this, d'you think?

*

_She was back at the pub, with Jack, clutching her beer in both hands as he took a sip from his water... No, it wasn't water, it was whiskey, and he wasn't wearing his greatcoat, but a black uniform, and more than that, she was pretty sure it wasn't actually Jack. And she knew, absolutely knew, that the drugs weren't in her drink this time, but in his._

_She knew it, because she'd put them there._

_"It's boring, really," the man in the black uniform said. "I've been put on guard detail, lots of standing around and such. Sometimes I open the door, let Her into his room. Other than that, not much. He doesn't do much anymore; used to be he'd try to break out, and we'd shoot him, and then he'd come back to life and we'd do the whole thing over again, but--" He clapped a hand over his mouth, suddenly realizing what he'd said. "Fuck." The word came out distorted, blocked by his own tight grip. "Oh fuck." Then he had to let go, clutching at the bar for support, swaying on his stool. "You've... oh, fuck!"_

_Gwen smiled. It didn't feel like her own smile. "So," she said, and her voice wasn't her own, either. It was harder, colder. "You're guarding a man who can't die. Now you're going to tell me where to find him."_

_Then she was running, firing her weapon, more men in black uniforms falling, and she heard Jack's voice echoing from somewhere, and she was going the wrong way, but she kept running, until all the men were sprawled on the floor, and she was standing in front of a door. She grabbed a keycard off one of the guard's bodies, swiped it through the lock, and the door hissed open. There was a woman in red, watching her with strange, empty eyes, calm despite the man holding her in front of him like a shield, one arm around her throat, the other twisting her arm behind her back. The man who couldn't die._

_He wasn't who she'd thought he'd be._

_"Gwen," Ianto said, his voice no more than a whisper._

_Then they were running again, only this time the shots weren't coming from her gun-- there were more guards, too many guards, and even though they were closing in on Jack's voice, they'd never reach it in time. Something hit her back, something small and so insignificant, and it stung a bit when she reached back, trying to feel for damage. But her arm was so heavy, and her legs were so weak, and the floor was right there, and she was... she was..._

_"Gwen!" Ianto fell to his knees next to her, his hand on her hair. "No, Gwen... Gwen, please, get up, you have to get up, Gwen please..."_

_She wanted to tell him to keep running._

_She couldn't find the words._

_Then he was crumpled next to her, curled up in a ball, one hand still reaching out for hers. From her position on the floor, Gwen couldn't see the person approaching them, only the white robes shifting with every step, like waves cresting. Only the slim, white hand reaching out for hers. "Come with me," someone said._

_And she reached out. She took the figure's hand. And she was gone._

"We're dreaming," Ianto said.

"Are you sure?" Gwen asked. It didn't feel like a dream. The Hub was warm and damp around them; she could feel the grating of the floor under her bare feet. It smelled of ozone and metal, coffee and gunpowder and the faint trace of Ianto's cologne. She could hear the hum of the computers, the whir of a fan, the soft sounds Myfanwy made re-settling in her nest. When she turned, she could see Ianto standing there in his hospital gown. His hair was longer than she'd ever seen it, he had a thick growth of beard going, and he was skinnier than ever, paler than ever.

He glanced down at her and smiled-- she thought he looked a bit wistful. "Hub's gone, remember?" he asked. "We're dreaming, Gwen."

Odd that he didn't say that he was dreaming, or that she was dreaming. They were dreaming, together. She reached out and took his hand; his grip was firm and warm, reassuring. "Ianto," she said, and then stopped. There was so much she wanted to say, too much. It was all crowded together, and she couldn't settle on just one thing to start with.

"Call's coming through," he said, and leaned forward to tap at the computer's keyboard.

The screen flickered, and for a moment, Gwen tensed up, expecting-- But there was no doctor in a white lab coat, no Ianto lying, broken, on a gurney. Instead there was a man in a tweed suit with a bow tie, dark hair hanging over his eyes. He looked familiar; she couldn't say from where. "Doctor," Ianto said, politely.

"Hullo, Ianto. Hullo, Gwen." The man's face was somber, and Gwen frowned.

"That doesn't look like the Doctor," she pointed out.

Ianto sighed. "He regenerates," he said, with that patient tone that used to grate so much. "When he dies, he comes back in a different body. Same man, same memories, just... a little different."

Gwen tried to see the Doctor she'd met in this new version's face. It was hard. Maybe it was because he was so serious now; even at the end of the world, the old Doctor hadn't managed to seem so grave. "So who's that behind him?" she asked, pointing.

The figure-- she supposed it had to be a man, and yet it wasn't quite-- at the Doctor's shoulder was striking, clad all in white. His skin was pale as paper, as was his hair, and his eyes were twin stars in pools of blackness. Ianto laughed softly and squeezed her hand. "This is why I never take you to the movies."

"I thought it was because the last time we tried, it turned into us chasing after soul-stealing aliens."

"That, too." When she looked up, she saw that Ianto was grinning, even though his eyes were fixed on the screen.

The Doctor cleared his throat, and Gwen looked back at the screen in a hurry. "Sorry," she said, although she didn't feel very sorry.

"Don't be," the Doctor said, and maybe it was him, at that. There was something fond in his eyes as he looked at them. "I wish I could give you more time. But we've only got so long." He glanced over his shoulder.

Then the strange man was stepping forward, so pale, with those starlike eyes (and really, she'd never thought of anyone's eyes in those terms, and it was ridiculous, but it was also true in a way she couldn't have ever explained), and the Doctor moved aside with a curious deference. "Ianto Jones," the man said. "Gwen Cooper. Remember this. Many dreams come through the gates of ivory, and those are meaningless. But some dreams, a few dreams, come through the gates of horn. Those dreams speak truth, if you heed them."

Gwen swallowed. "What about... the ship, and the... the woman in red? What about those dreams?" Ianto clenched her hand tightly; he was shaking a little bit.

The strange man and the Doctor looked at one another; the strange man was grave, and the Doctor seemed chastened. "What is done can never truly be undone," the strange man said. "Not as long as any living soul remembers."

"Jack," Ianto said, softly.

"Listen to me," the Doctor said, stepping forward. "This isn't the end of anything. There's so much... Right now, it's down to the two of you. Later, hopefully, I'll..." He stepped back, ran his hand through his hair, looking flustered. "But I promise you, Gwen, I will never turn my face away. Not from this planet, and not from any of you. You will see me again. Just -- whatever you do, don't let Jack be hurt. Because if it's not your Jack, if it's Jack before he met me--"

"Then he's mortal," Gwen finished. "And he can die."

"And you can't let that happen," the Doctor said.

"Right," Ianto said, obviously trying to sound calm, obviously failing. "Keep Jack Harkness from getting himself killed. Shouldn't be too much of a challenge." He let out a strained, nervous laugh that didn't sound very much like him at all, and Gwen leaned in closer, wrapped her arm around his waist. He held tight to her.

"If anyone can keep him in line, it's the two of you," the Doctor said. "You'll do just fine. Keep him safe, keep each other safe. And I'll see you soon, I promise."

Gwen nodded. There was so much she wanted to say, to ask, but as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, the screen was blank.

"You'll be waking up now," Ianto said. His voice was calmer than before, but Gwen knew better than to trust that. Turning, she wrapped both arms around him and pressed her face into his shoulder. After a moment, he kissed her hair.

_"We're coming, Ianto. We'll get you out, I promise. I--"_

_He was already gone._

And she woke up, screaming, on a hospital trolley. The room was cold, the flourescent lights blue-white and flickering, there were green curtains all around her, and her heart was going a hundred miles an hour, and she'd died, she'd died, and she couldn't seem to stop screaming. Then there were people surrounding her, pinning her down, and she couldn't break their grip, she couldn't get free, and--

"What the fuck?"

"Thought she was a DOA!"

"She doesn't fucking look dead to me!"

"Everyone!" The voice was commanding, and even Gwen felt herself stilling at the sound of it. "Calm down. You, and you. Stay. The rest of you, get back to work." No one moved for a few seconds; then, as if someone had flipped a switch, everyone started filtering out of the little curtained cubby, heads down and very quiet. Only three people remained; one man holding down her shoulders, another with his hands on her ankles, and a dark-skinned man with white hair and a white doctor's jacket, leaning over her. "Well then," the man said, peering into her eyes and then picking her wrist up to take her pulse. "Gave us a bit of a start, didn't you? We weren't expecting you to wake up that way." He chuckled.

"Where am I?" she asked, trying to sit up again. "They said I was dead! What's going on?"

"Calm down, calm down." The doctor laid a hand on her shoulder, and she relaxed just a little bit. The doctor looked up at the man who was standing by her shoulders, nodding, and the man let her go, walking away. "You're in the hospital. Everything's all right. Can you tell me your name?"

She swallowed hard; her mouth was parched, her throat aching. "Gwen," she said. "Gwen Williams. It's my married name. I've got a husband, Rhys, and a baby, and oh God--" Again, she tried to sit up. Again, the doctor pushed her down, gently, but all the same.

The Doctor. He'd been in her dream, but he hadn't looked like himself. He hadn't looked like this, either. Nor had he looked like Simon, because Simon looked like Ianto, and... "Was your husband with you?" this doctor asked. "Or the baby? Were they hurt?"

She shook her head. That much she knew. "No," she said. "They're back home, in Cardiff." Cardiff, where the Hub wasn't, where Torchwood was gone. She remembered that, too.

"Ah. And where are you?"

"Glasgow." Glasgow, where Torchwood also wasn't. Because they'd torn it down and built the Project on top of it. Everything was coming back, faster and faster, and she briefly wondered if she wouldn't have been better off had it stayed gone. But no. Because Simon and all the others were going to come for her whether she remembered them or not, and she couldn't help Ianto, couldn't help anyone, if she gave up and forgot the whole thing. "I'm in Glasgow."

"Good." This doctor rubbed her shoulder, soothingly. "Can I ask what brings you to Glasgow?"

"Looking for someone," she said. "Thirsty. Could I have some water?"

This doctor glanced down at the man holding Gwen's ankles, and he, too, moved away. It was just her and this doctor now, and he sat on the edge of the trolley, leaving his hand still on her shoulder. "Mrs. Williams," he said, quietly. "Do you remember what happened to you? Anything at all?"

At another time, she might have had to fake this, the semi-hysterical incoherency, just another frightened woman who shouldn't be bothered with a lot of questions. There was no need, though, not with her heart still racing like it was, her breath coming sharp and fast, scraping in her throat. "I found him. The man I was looking for. I found him. Only he found me, really. Just... there he was, and there was this feeling in my neck, like little needles, and then... It was so _dark_..."

This doctor patted her arm, then stood up. "You're safe, now." He helped her to sit up and handed her a paper cup. "I'll be right back."

"Wait!" She grabbed his arm before he could pull away. "Who are you? What's your name?"

"Shepherd," he said, with a smile. "Dr. Derrial Shepherd. Excuse me." He withdrew from her grasp, and left the alcove.

Gwen sipped her water, pulling her legs up underneath her. Now that she could look about a bit, she could see one of the orderlies who'd been holding her down, standing as far away from her as he could, his arms tightly folded over his chest. There was something about the way he looked at her, the fear in his eyes. She wondered if Ianto had faced that look before, when he'd come back to life in Thames House. She knew that Jack had.

She didn't envy either of them.

Outside, someone, a woman, was talking. "No heartrate, no respirations, no pulse. We tried everything. Cardiac infusers, pulmonary stimulators... Look at her temperature. She was cooling by the time she got here. She wasn't alive, Dr. Shepherd. There's no way she was alive."

Shepherd said something; she recognized the man's voice, but couldn't make out the words. The woman he was talking to let out a sigh. "It's too late. I heard the call go out over my radio. There's already someone en route." Shepherd spoke again; he didn't sound happy. Gwen crept a little closer to the edge of the trolley, trying to hear him. "Look, you know the rules. We all know the rules. Her name's on the list. You're going to have to let her go." The next bit was inaudible. Gwen shifted just a bit further, her legs hanging off the side of the trolley now, dangling above the floor.

"Here, now." The orderly's voice was harsh, and she froze, looking over at him. He'd uncrossed his arms and was walking over to her. "Where do you think you're going?"

Acting scared and helpless seemed to have worked so far, so she decided to stick with it. "I want to go home," she said. "Please, I just want to--"

"Now, now." Shepherd came back into the room, crossing swiftly to where she sat. Another orderly and a woman in a paramedic's uniform trailed in his wake. "You'll soon be home. We just want to make sure you're all right. I'm going to draw some blood, so we can run some tests, and then we'll take you to your own room. Would you like that? Your own room?"

She nodded, biting her lip, and didn't fight when he took her arm in blue-gloved hands and stuck a syringe in her. When it was full, he gave it to one of the orderlies in exchange for another, this one full of clear liquid. "What's that?" she asked, as he drew the cover from the needle. "I don't want it. I don't want--"

Shepherd looked back at the woman in the paramedic's uniform; she nodded. "This'll just calm you down a little. Trust me?" When Gwen's eyes met his, he gave her a quick wink. She nodded, and let him stick the needle in, let him inject her with whatever it was. "I'll take this," Shepherd added, stealing the cup of water from her hand, and urged her to lie back down. "And now, we'll move you to your room. All right?"

Gwen nodded again. The orderlies moved to either side of the trolley, rolling her out into the hallway, with Shepherd and the paramedic following after.

The flourescent lights flickered over her as she was moved. Strange how she didn't feel drugged. In fact, she felt clearer. More awake. She closed her eyes anyway, figuring it was best to play along. After a little while, they stopped moving, and she heard a soft chime, doors sliding open. A lift. "Where are we going?" one of the orderlies asked.

"Morgue," the woman replied.

"But she's not--"

"It's all right," Shepherd said, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "Push the button, Jayne." And they were moving down, down.

If everything went according to plan, this was the point where Simon would be entering the building. Gwen sent out a silent prayer that everything would, indeed, go according to plan. The lift stopped, the doors whooshed open, and she was pushed out into the hallway. "Look, I don't understand," the orderly said. "Why are we doing this? I thought you said--"

"We're transferring her to a specialized facility," Shepherd said. He didn't sound particularly happy. "It's out of our hands."

The trolley rolled to a stop. "Is this her?" Simon's voice, soothingly familiar, and Gwen's pulse leapt for a moment, although she forced herself to stay still, like she was knocked out.

"You've seen her file," the paramedic said. "What do you think?"

"Who are you people?" The orderly's voice was sharp, frightened and angry. "What are you doing?"

Simon ignored him. "Is there CCTV coverage in this section of the hospital?"

"It's on the blink," the paramedic said. She was particularly terse; something in her voice made Gwen think of the army, of uniforms and guns and red berets. "Hasn't been working all day."

"Good," Simon said. "We'll need to talk to anyone who might have seen the patient, find out what they saw, what they heard. My friends here will..."

The orderly was still obviously against the whole thing; it might have been touching had it not been such a danger to their plans. "I'm not talking to anyone unless you tell me what the hell is going--"

"Or," Simon continued, his voice quiet and calm, "you could fight. You can always do that."

There was a silence; Gwen guessed that weapons had been drawn. "The others are upstairs," Shepherd said, sounding a little shaken. "Please, follow me."

Footsteps strode off, back towards the lift, and then Gwen was being wheeled forwards again.

They hadn't gone far, maybe fifty feet down the hallway, when the sound of a scuffle broke out behind them, shouting, and then a sharp crack like a gun had been fired. "What the--" someone called, not Simon, one of the guards, maybe.

"Now!" Simon shouted, and the scuffle came abruptly closer. There was the soft sound of fists hitting flesh, the harder crack of skulls against tiles, and someone knocked into the trolley, someone's warm weight landed on top of Gwen, like they were trying to protect her with their body. Her eyes flew open, locked with Simon's; he was covering her as fights continued on either side, men in grey uniforms grappling with one another. A grunt, a muttered curse, a few more thuds, and everything was quiet again.

"All right?" Simon asked, looking at Gwen. She nodded, a bit breathless, and he pushed himself off her, looking around. "Andy? Captain Harkness?"

"Yeah," Andy said. He sounded a bit winded. "Yeah, fine. Not much worse than a drunk on rugby night, really."

Jack was dusting his hands off on his uniform. His hair was barely ruffled. "We should get these two under cover, in case someone comes through and--"

"Don't worry about them," Shepherd said, and Gwen sat up so quickly that her head spun. His knuckles were bleeding, and his coat was crumpled as if someone had been clutching at it. The paramedic Gwen had heard speaking to him, with her clipped, military tones, was following at his shoulder, looking similarly disheveled. "We'll put them with the others."

"I heard a gunshot," Simon said. "Was anyone--"

"One of your idiots shot himself in the foot," the paramedic said. Her face was stern. "You're ahead of schedule," she added. "If something goes wrong, I don't know if I'll be able to muster a team to pull you out of there."

Simon smiled, faintly. "If something goes wrong, Jayne, there won't be anything left of me to pull out," he said. "Just shut them down; that's all I ask."

"With pleasure," Jayne said, and turned to leave.

Shepherd followed her for a few steps, before turning back. "I'll be waiting for you at the rendezvous point. Good luck, Simon."

"Thank you, Derrial." The two clasped hands, briefly, then let go. Jayne had stopped, one hand on her hip, waiting. Shepherd took a few long strides to catch up with her and the two went off together. Simon took a deep breath, then straightened his shoulders. "Right. Captain Harkness, have you got that perception filter?"

"Never leave home without it," Jack said, pulling a key on a chain from his coat pocket. He pulled it on over his head, and suddenly, Gwen couldn't see him. Or she could, but he kept sliding away. "You know, when this is all over with, I'm going to have to ask you a few questions about these friends of yours. The ones who just appeared out of nowhere, apparently knowing more about our plan than we do, and then took out four armed Project operatives without getting more than a little rumpled."

"And I'll be happy to explain everything," Simon said. "Assuming I'm still alive at that point. Right, we've got to go." He glanced at Gwen, and she nodded, lying back and closing her eyes. "Okay," Simon said. "Come on."

They hurried down the corridor, wheels rattling against the tiled floor. There was a whoosh of double doors opening, and even through closed eyelids, Gwen could see the bright light of day outside. Then it was up, and in, and she came to a stop. Probably inside the ambulance now. The others scrambled in after her, the doors closed, and they were moving.

"Radio ahead," Simon called, over the rumble of the exhaust. "Let them know we're coming. And put the flashers on."

"Sirens?" someone asked. John Hart. Gwen had never been so relieved to hear his voice.

"Just the flashers. We'd better get her in the restraints before she fights off the sedative. No point risking a repeat of last time."

Gwen felt cold leather going around her wrists and ankles. A rough finger traced down her palm-- Jack's-- and she closed her hand around it, just for the comfort. Her heart was starting to pick up again; she didn't like being held down at the best of times, and she was starting to get nervous now. It was all happening so fast.

"Heart rate monitor?" Andy asked, from the general vicinity of her feet.

The ambulance hit a bump, and everything swayed; Gwen could hear the others reaching out to cling to something, feel someone steadying the stretcher. "Leave it," Simon said, sounding a bit strained now. "We'll be lucky if it's in one piece by the time we get back."

"We'll be lucky if we're in one piece by the time we get back," Andy muttered, his tone a bit mournful. Gwen wished she could reassure him, but there was nothing she could do but lie back and think of Wales.

They settled into silence. Gwen felt like she'd reached a strange plateau. It wasn't like being awake and alert and functioning. More like when they'd all been up for 36 hours straight, functioning on coffee and Jubilee Pizza (no more Meat Feast-- Ianto'd stopped ordering it after Owen died the first time), her movements no longer under her control, but just a matter of jittering her way into the right direction. Or trying to go home, go to bed, after a particularly deadly chase, her heart still hammering in her chest, keeping her twitching even when she wanted nothing more, needed nothing more, then to just go limp and mindless for as many hours as she could snatch before Torchwood sucked her back. Torchwood always sucked you back again.

She knew she could manage, knew that when the time came she could run and fire her weapon with steady hands and do whatever she needed to, but still. The relief she'd felt in the hospital, in coming back to life when she'd been so sure she wouldn't, was all but gone now. There was still room for someone to turn traitor, and even if no one did, there was no guarantee they'd actually manage to get Ianto out, and even if they did that, it wouldn't mean that they'd all survive.

She allowed herself the luxury of a deep breath, and thought about Ianto, lying pale on the bed, his mangled leg black and obscene against the white of the sheets. She pictured his face, contorted, desperate, trying to fight back the pain even though he couldn't, really, had never been any good at it. It didn't matter, none of the rest of it mattered. She would do what she had to do, knowing that had their positions been reversed, he'd have done the same for her.

The ambulance slowed to a stop. This was it.

_Fuck_ , Gwen thought, her body tensing despite her best efforts to keep it relaxed. The back doors of the ambulance swung open, and she trembled slightly, hopefully surreptitiously.

"Papers," someone said.

"Here," Simon said, footsteps on metal as he stepped towards the front of the ambulance. There was a rustle as he handed something over; Gwen felt like her senses were on overdrive, hyperfocused and keen. She twitched again.

"Doctor, she's coming to," Andy said, sounding desperately nervous.

"This shouldn't take long," Simon replied, a little sharply. _Just don't act too unconscious_ , he'd told her. Gwen began twitching in earnest, occasionally letting out little whimpers, hoping that she wasn't playing it up too much.

" _Doctor_." Andy's voice was louder, now, high-pitched and frightened.

Simon shuffled back, picked up Gwen's wrist and checked her pulse. "Christ," he muttered. "If we're done here, I need to get the Subject secured."

"She looks secure enough," someone said, from just outside the ambulance. He hadn't stepped inside, though. Afraid, maybe? Gwen turned slightly, tugging at her restraints, moaning.

"So did the last one," Simon pointed out, leaning over Gwen to pin both her wrists down, "and it took four of us--"

"All right, all right. You're clear." After a few moments, the door swung closed, and someone thumped on it. There was a rumble and a roar as the ambulance started up again and began rattling along.

"Not bad, Gwen Cooper," Simon muttered, his voice tickling her ear, before he pulled away. She smiled faintly at him before resuming her tossing and muttering.

Everything was moving faster and faster now. At least it'd be over with soon. Eyes closed, Gwen couldn't see what was happening, only guess at it. The ambulance stopped, the doors were opened, her stretcher lowered down, wheels unfolding to hit the pavement. A soft whoosh like electric doors opening. Rolling across the tiled floors. They were in now, she reckoned, and decided to keep shifting, tugging at her restraints, eyes closed but moaning and mumbling under her breath. "Better hurry," Simon said, and they rolled her along faster. "Don't want her causing a scene."

She wondered how long it would be until John started up the distraction. Her heart was pounding faster now. "Nearly there," Simon said. He sounded a bit out of breath. "Get the door, would you?"

Another electronic swooshing, and then the sound of a door closing behind them. They stopped. For a moment, no one spoke, or even seemed to breathe. "Right. Cameras off," Simon said. His voice was shaking, and he wasn't bothering to hide it. "Gwen, let's get you up and moving."

Finally. Her eyes flew open in time to see the three of them descending on her bindings, Jack on one wrist, Simon on the other, Andy fumbling with her feet. Jack must have taken the key off, because she could see him again; couldn't seem to stop looking at him, in fact. There was something very reassuring about having him there.

She sat up as soon as her wrists were free-- Simon bumped Andy out of the way and quickly undid the remaining restraint, as Gwen rubbed the red marks on her forearms. She hadn't been struggling too hard, or so she'd thought, but it'd left marks anyway.

Somewhere along the line, they'd replaced her clothes with a hospital gown. Simon ducked under the trolley for a moment and pulled out a set of scrubs, handing them over. "Thanks," Gwen said, sliding off the table and pulling the pants on underneath the gown, not bothering to wait for anyone to turn around or cover their eyes. The gown was tied loosely, and she yanked it off easily, pulling the scrub top on over bare breasts. Andy went pink and turned away, even though there was nothing else to see.

"Here," Jack said, handing her a gun and a mobile. Her own-- John must have looted them from her once he'd knocked her out. She'd have to thank him for that, assuming they both survived. "You going to be okay?"

She checked the gun to make sure it was loaded. Jack handed over another clip, and she slid it into the back pocket of her scrubs, alongside her mobile. "Not seeing double or anything, and I'm on my feet," she said. Granted, her heart was pounding and her hands were shaky, but that didn't matter. It had never mattered. "Let's go save Ianto."

Simon was already by the door, listening intently. "No one in the hall yet," he murmured. "Either Captain Hart is stealthier than I thought, or--" Then a deafening klaxon sounded, leaving the four of them clutching at their ears. The lights all flashed red in unison.

_"Warning: Facility has been breached. Warning: Facility has been breached. Warning--"_

"That's him," Simon shouted, barely audible over the alarms, the computerized voice announcing the situation to all and sundry. "Come on."

They scrambled out into the hallway, Simon in the lead, Jack and Gwen close at his heels and Andy bringing up the rear.

_"Warning: Facility has been breached. Warning: Facility has been breached. Warning--"_

The door to Ianto's room was shut fast-- Jack reached for his wrist strap, but Simon waved him off, working his fingers into the gap between the door and the wall and forcing it open with surprising strength. Then he was through, the others on his heels. The sight of Ianto on his bed in the middle of the room, sitting up as much as he was able with his wrists strapped to the metal railing, gaping at them, froze Gwen in her tracks for a moment. He looked exactly as he had in her dream, thin, pale, with long hair and a beard. Andy pushed past her, then skidded to a halt with a sharp intake of breath.

_"Warning: Facility has been breached. Warning: Facility has been breached. Warning: Facility ha--"_

The klaxons, the flashing lights, and the eerie computerized voice all stopped at once, and the lights went out, stranding them in darkness. Then there was a humming sound, and the lights kicked back in, dimmer now. "He took out the power supply," Simon said, making quick work of the bindings on Ianto's wrists, then hurrying to free his ankles. "Hopefully, that'll slow them down a bit." He turned to Ianto, who had sat up fully, and was staring at each of them in turn, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and stunned. "We've got to move," he said. "Can you walk?"

Ianto wasn't looking at him. He was staring at Jack, eyes fixed on him, shaking his head from side to side. "No," he said, voice barely a whisper. "No, Jack, you can't... They'll catch you, and they'll hurt you, and I can't, Jack, I can't watch that, not again, you have to _go_ , you have to--"

He lunged forward, and Simon was just barely fast enough to stop him taking a header off the bed. "Ianto," he said, voice firm and loud. Gwen could see his hand tapping at Ianto's shoulder, patting out a message in dits and dahs. "Ianto, look at me. Ianto, look at me; it's all right. You're not on the ship. Ianto, you're not--"

"You didn't come for me." Ianto had turned his gaze towards Gwen; he was wild-eyed, frantic. "You came for Jack. You didn't know I was here. You didn't-- It's all right, though. Just take him. Take him and _go_!"

"Not without you." Jack pushed past Gwen easily, broad-shouldered and tall and every inch the Captain at that moment, even without the greatcoat and Webley to costume him. He glanced at Simon, who stepped away, passing Ianto into Jack's hands. "I'm not leaving you, Ianto. Not again."

Ianto sagged in Jack's grip, but didn't fall into his arms, still holding himself back. "It's the worst thing," he said, quietly. "The rest, I don't care; you get used to the needles and the knives and the... even when She... I'm used to it. It doesn't hurt anymore. But you... I can't, Jack. I can't stand to watch. Not anymore. I can't..."

Jack leaned his forehead against Ianto's, cupping Ianto's face in his hands. One thumb grazed along Ianto's cheekbone, then tapped, lightly. Graze. Tap. Tap. Graze. "Then close your eyes," he said, quietly. And Ianto did. "Take a deep breath." And Ianto did, as Jack tapped out his message, steady and calm and so intimate that Gwen had to turn her face away. "And another one. Good. Keep breathing. That's right. Just keep breathing."

"Not like I can stop," Ianto said, and there was something painful in his voice then. But then he said, "Jack," in such a strange, awestruck way, and when Gwen looked at them again, she saw Ianto's eyes open, staring at Jack, and she knew that he'd come back to them. "Jack. I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

"You know me better than that," Jack replied, his voice very gentle.

"Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again." They looked at each other for a few seconds, just looking, before Ianto turned to Gwen. "Gwen," he said, softly. Then he craned his neck, gaze sweeping the room. "Andy," he said. "They finally dragged you into this mess, eh?"

"Kicking and screaming," Andy said, stepping forwards, away from the door. "Don't tell me you're not glad of the daring rescue."

"Swooning any second now."

Simon had stepped away for a moment to a side cabinet; he came back with a syringe in one hand, scrub bottoms draped over his arm. "We're running out of time," he said. "Better get you up and moving." He handed the trousers to Jack and uncapped the syringe. Ianto glanced at it, nervously. "It's to counteract the effects of the sedatives," Simon said, his voice gentler than Gwen had heard it before. "I'm not going to hurt you, Ianto."

"I know," Ianto said, and held out his arm. Jack was kneeling at the floor by Ianto's feet, guiding his legs into the scrub bottoms, and Gwen had to close her eyes. It wasn't for her to watch.

When she looked again, Jack was pulling away from Ianto-- slowly, perhaps reluctantly, leaving Ianto to balance himself with one hand on Simon's shoulder, Simon's hand on his waist. The syringe was gone. Ianto was still looking at Jack, as if he'd never seen him before. "You were right, you know," he said. "It hurts. Every time."

"Ianto," Jack said, his voice a little choked. "I--" He reached out.

"No!"

Simon lunged forward with a cry, shoving Ianto into Jack's arms as he pulled his gun, and for a moment, Gwen thought he'd turned on them. But then she felt metal digging into her back, cold through the thin top. A hand closed on her shoulder.

They'd been caught.

"Dr. Tau," a voice said, warm breath puffing past Gwen's ear, and she stiffened. "You didn't think this was going to work, did you?"

Ianto let out a choked noise and tried to lurch forward, but he stumbled, and Jack had to catch him quickly. To their left, Gwen saw Andy slipping along the wall, trying to get behind her captor.

"Stop that, PC Davidson," the man said. "I will shoot her. Don't think for an instant that I won't."

Andy froze in place.

"Let her go," Ianto said, his voice hoarse. "I'll stay here. I won't try to run. Just let her go."

"Why should I?" It didn't matter that Gwen couldn't see the face of the man holding her hostage; she knew who it was. The doctor from the video, small and white-haired, the one who'd seemed so ordinary, the one who'd done such terrible things. "She's a perfectly viable Subject. Torchwood Three background, and there's already been one apparent resurrection... Granted, she might have faked that, but we'll find out soon enough what she can do. We'll have you as well, and the Captain, never fear that. We'll have all three of you."

"No, you won't," Simon snapped. But the hands that held the gun were shaking. "You won't live long enough for that."

"Who's going to kill me, Dr. Tau? You?" The doctor's voice was still perfectly calm, perfectly composed. "It's funny, really. I really didn't want you to come into direct contact with the Subject at all. The Board overruled me. But all in all, I'd say it turned out rather well."

Gwen looked up at Jack, looking for some sort of guidance, but he was staring past her. So was Ianto, for that matter. Both of them, eyes fixed on someone behind her, and Ianto's hand patting restlessly at Jack's arm. Gwen stiffened. Even if this was what she hoped it was, she'd only have one shot at saving herself. Best make it a good one.

"It doesn't matter--" Simon was saying, but Jack silenced him with an upraised hand.

"You knew that I was here," Jack said, his eyes focused once more on the doctor. "How?"

The doctor shrugged; Gwen felt the barrel of the gun shift slightly against her skin. It was reassuring, the way the gun moved with him. Made the odds a little better. "There's CCTV everywhere these days, Captain Harkness. You only had to get caught on camera the once. It was enough."

Jack actually smiled at that. "How long ago was it? Just for curiosity's sake. A week? A month?"

"Six months," the doctor replied. For a moment, Gwen was confused. Then she remembered, and she knew who was behind her.

"Ah," Jack said, grin widening. "See, that's interesting. Because I wasn't even on this planet six months ago. Although I can see how you'd get confused. The resemblance is pretty striking."

"You think?" Jack's voice was suddenly coming from behind Gwen, although she could see him standing in front of her, mouth tight shut. If she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn it was some kind of a trick. "Personally, I'm a little insulted. You've aged well, I grant you that, but still. I do not look that old."

The grip on Gwen's shoulder weakened-- the barrel of the gun pulled just a little to the right against her back. "It's a trick," the doctor said.

"If it's a trick, then why does Dr. Tau look so surprised?" The first Jack, Gwen's Jack, sounded outright amused. Gwen didn't risk a glance at him or at Simon; she closed her eyes, tensing her muscles, ready to spring. "I've only known him for two days, but even I know he's not that good of an actor."

The barrel pulled to the right just a little bit more.

"I would have introduced myself sooner," the other Jack said. "But you know how John is. Wants to keep me all to himself. Really, I've never met anyone so--"

And the doctor turned; Gwen felt it in the slackening of the hand on her shoulder, the gun finally pulling away. She was wrenching herself sideways even as Jack snapped out, " _Now_!" The shot came a second later, hot air passing her harmlessly as she fell to the floor, rolling, and another shot was fired, and a body hit the floor with a thump. Then Ianto was crouched in front of her, on his knees, running his hands over her arms and down her sides, checking for blood.

"You're not hurt," he said, finally, his hands still resting on her side.

"Not this time," she said, pushing herself up onto her knees. He stared at her, running one hand through her hair, the other pressed to her side, then turned to stare up at the doorway.

Gwen followed his gaze, heart skipping in her chest. She'd known this could happen, known that there were... but it was different to see it, to have it made real. Jack Harkness dressed in black fatigues, standing in the doorway, still braced for recoil. And back by the bed, Jack Harkness in a grey Project uniform, one hand on his weapon, although he hadn't drawn it. Yet.

"What the fuck?" Andy asked. His gun was still out, but he didn't seem to know quite where to point it.

"My thoughts exactly," Jack breathed. His attention was still on the other Jack, the Time Agent. "Who the hell are you?".

"Time Agent 21177." The Time Agent's voice was crisper than Jack's, the accent subtly different. "The Project was on the verge of causing a major paradox. I was sent to stop it. Erase all the evidence; leave nothing behind."

"You're going to blow the place up," Jack said, glancing at Gwen and Ianto with dismay on his face. "How long have we got?"

The Time Agent checked his wrist strap. "Forty-five minutes," he said. "Just enough time for me to get out before you arrived, let you rescue the Subject, and--"

Suddenly, Ianto pushed Gwen down, diving over her, and for a few moments, sprawled on her back, she thought he'd attacked one of the Jacks, either one. Then she pushed up onto her knees, and saw Ianto wrestling with someone on the floor. The doctor, wounded, but not dead, and still armed.

She cried out, "Ianto!" and scrambled forward on all fours, Jack and Simon lunging with her, but it was too late. The gun went off, echoingly loud in the small space, and Ianto fell backwards, blood blooming on his hospital gown. Gwen caught him, leaning him against her chest-- he gasped for breath, hands clutching uselessly at nothing. "Ianto, no. Stay with us. Ianto, please, not now, please just--"

"Hurts," Ianto gasped, one hand settling briefly on her arm, too feeble to hold on, and then he was sagging, limp. Dead weight in her arms.

"No... Ianto, no..." She was crying, stroking his hair, and his hospital gown was bright red and saturated, and she'd failed him again, hadn't saved him, again.

"He'll come back," said a voice, no longer calm, no longer composed. Gwen stared down at the doctor who had started the whole bloody thing, laying on the floor, clutching his wounded side. "He'll come back."

Simon knelt by the man, picked up the gun abandoned on the floor, and cocked it, his expression almost thoughtful. "You won't," he said. The first shot went right between the doctor's eyes. After the second and the third, the man's head was a bloody ruin, and Simon's hands were shaking so much that he couldn't hold the weapon. It dropped to the doctor's chest; Jack picked it up, reloaded it, and handed it back to him.

"Keep this," he said. "You'll need it."

The Time Agent stepped forward, gun holstered out of sight, and tried to pull Ianto from Gwen's grasp, but she fought him, blindly, until Jack's restraining hand on her shoulder made her let go. "It's all right," Jack said, quietly, although the wariness never left his eyes as the Time Agent lifted Ianto, gently, as though he were a child. Jack looked up at the Time Agent. "I don't remember any of this," he said.

"No," the Agent said, sounding bitter. "Well. You wouldn't. They took the whole thing, didn't they? Two years, wiped away."

Jack frowned, pushing himself up to his feet. "How old are you?"

"Earth Standard?" The Time Agent frowned. "Thirty-four. Why does it matter?"

"You're mortal; that's why." Jack pulled the perception filter out of his pocket, and placed it around his doppelganger's neck. Suddenly, both he and Ianto were sliding, always at the corner of Gwen's eyes, never right in front of them. Jack helped her to her feet, picked up her weapon, discarded on the floor, and gave it back to her. "Stay in the middle. Simon, you're with me. Lead us out of here. Gwen, you and Andy are rear guard." He looked down at her, brushed a tear away with his thumb. "He'll be all right," he said, quietly, and she nodded, trying to believe him. "Let's go."

Simon spared one last glance down at the dead man on the floor, then hurried to follow Jack, the Time Agent striding after them, carrying Ianto's body as though it weighed nothing. Gwen and Andy fell into step behind them, weapons raised.

Once out into the hallway, she could hear distant gunfire, shouting. "I take it John didn't warn you about the bombs?" the Agent asked. "Of course, he'd have had to explain to you who was setting the bombs, and that wouldn't have been easy. I guess I should be flattered he went to the trouble of outright lying to me, instead of just--"

"Perception filters work better when you keep your mouth shut," Jack said, tersely.

The gunfire was getting closer, now accompanied by running footsteps. "We need cover," Gwen called to Simon, thumb on the safety of her weapon, praying that muscle memory would be enough to let her shoot straight. "They're almost on top of us!"

"The corridor splits off just ahead," Simon called back.

"I see it," Jack said. "Gwen, go left. Andy, right. The rest of you, stay with me." They started running. Sure enough, another corridor intersected theirs, just a few feet ahead. Gwen and Andy split off from the others, flattening themselves against opposite walls.

"Let's slow them down a bit, yeah?" Gwen asked, and Andy nodded, face pale, eyes wide with fear. He moved when she moved, leaning out into the open for just a moment, seeing the guards coming in their black uniforms, and firing once, twice, even as Andy did the same. There was an outburst of cursing, and then answering gunfire echoing down the hallway, bullets ricocheting off the tiles. When the hail of bullets was over, Gwen stepped out into the open again, firing four more rounds as quickly as she could, reassured when she heard someone grunting in pain. Andy was a few seconds behind her in stepping out to shoot, and too slow in getting under cover-- one of the guards got a lucky shot off and clipped his shoulder, sending him back into the wall with a soft gasp, one hand clutching at the wound. "All right?" Gwen shouted over the gunfire.

Andy didn't speak, only nodded, and stepped out again, finishing his clip off, ejecting it and reloading. Gwen took her turn while he was under cover-- there were three grey-clad bodies on the floor now, and she thought she'd hit a fourth one in the knee. The answering fire was slow in coming, but she didn't dare assume they'd stopped. Probably just regrouping. She ejected her spent clip, reloaded, and nodded at Andy. "Let's catch up to the others," she said. She stayed where she was until he bolted down the hall-- only then did she follow him.

The others weren't far ahead-- she could see Simon and Jack moving cautiously, weapons raised, talking in quiet voices. "--wait for him?" Simon asked, quietly.

"We still have to get through the gate," Jack replied. "Ten minutes, at most. And that's if we don't-- Move!"

Gwen dove for a nearby doorway, pulling Andy with her-- seconds later, bullets were rattling down the hallway, and she could hear footsteps approaching from behind them. They were pinned down. "Somehow, I don't think Captain Hart managed to keep the guards distracted for long," Andy said, one hand pressed to his shoulder. He almost sounded cheerful.

"Jack!" Gwen shouted. "Simon!"

"Exit's blocked," Jack called back. She craned her neck to see, then tucked herself quickly back into cover. More gunfire, this time answered by one or both of the others. "Agent 21177, report!"

"Holding position," he replied. "All right up there?"

"Just stay down!" Jack called back. "I'll tell you when to move!"

More gunfire. When Gwen peeked out again, she saw the shadows of the second group of guards, the ones coming up from behind, stretching out along the tiled floors. She raised her weapon, made herself ready. Then there was an explosion-- flames, and black smoke, and screaming. The lights behind them went out. There was no sound now besides the ringing of her ears, just silence.

"What was that?" Jack called. "Gwen? Gwen, report!"

"I can't see anything, Jack!" Someone was coming; she could hear limping footsteps dragging their way down the hall. She raised the neckline of her scrub top to cover her mouth and nose, and squinted into the haze. She could just make out the shape of a man, a slight man with a ridiculously large gun, stumbling towards them. She swallowed hard, then pushed herself out into the open. "Hold it," she ordered, trying to keep her voice steady.

Then the man was pressing her back into the doorway as gunfire rained down on them. "Don't want me on my knees this time, then?" John asked, his mouth inches from her ear. His shirt was sticky where they were pressed together, and his voice was ragged, not nearly as smug.

"You're hurt," Gwen murmured, reaching up to check the damage-- he stopped her with a hand on her wrist, blood on his hands, on her skin now.

"It's nothing," John said. "Did you get Ianto, or were you too busy standing here making a target out of yourself?"

"We've--" Gwen stopped short, remembering Ianto dying in her arms. "He was-- He got--"

"Fuck. Well. Guess he's not lucid, then." Gunfire from Simon and Jack; gunfire from the guards.

"Gwen, report!" Jack called again.

She opened her mouth to call back, but was stopped by John's hand, coppery taste of his blood in her mouth, silencing her. "But you brought him?" he asked. "He's up there?"

"The Agent's got him," Gwen said.

Hart pulled back a little-- his eyes were in shadow, and she couldn't guess what he was thinking. "The Agent?" he repeated. "The Time Agent?"

Gwen nodded. "He's got a perception filter on-- it's hard to see him--"

"Not if you're looking for him." John stepped back, pushing the gun into her hands. "Take this. Follow me." Then he slipped out into the smoke; Gwen hefted the weapon into position, spreading her feet to help her take the weight of it, then went after him, Andy on her heels.

The Agent was barely ten feet from them, in the mouth of a hallway, Ianto still cradled in his arms, almost protectively. John peered down the hallway without a word to either of them, then pulled a grenade from his belt, yanking the pin out with his teeth and hurling it. Another explosion-- more screaming, more smoke. "You two," John said, looking from the Agent to Andy. "Stay. Gwen, with me."

Gwen traced John's footsteps to the best of her ability, trying to move as stealthily as he did. The smoke helped-- it and the explosions seemed to have confused the guards ahead. Another twenty feet and they were with Jack and Simon, huddled behind what appeared to be a reception desk. Jack was wrapping a scrap of cloth around Simon's right leg, like some sort of a makeshift bandage. Gwen tucked down by Jack's side, John hovering over them.

"How many?" John hissed.

"Nine, now," Jack said, tying the bandage off. Simon was clutching his gun with white knuckles, shaking from head to toe. "What about the others?"

"Behind us," John said. "Did they split?"

Jack nodded, barely visible in the dim light, the smoky haze. John pulled another grenade from his belt, but didn't go for the pin, not yet. "I'll go left. You and Gwen go right." He glanced down at Simon. "You make sure the others get out." Simon nodded, wordlessly, and pushed to his feet-- most of his weight was on the left leg. "On my word."

They hovered for a moment, Gwen's palms sweating, her breath coming quick and fast, and then John shouted, " _Now_!" and everything seemed to happen at once, the three of them bursting from their positions in a sudden flurry of gunfire, the gun in Gwen's arms rattling out bullets so fast she could hardly stand, and then there was an explosion, too close, the heat of it singing her. The return fire slowed but didn't stop; bullets ricocheting off the walls, and something hit Gwen in the temple; she staggered, dropping the automatic weapon she'd been carrying so she could reach up and touch her forehead. Her hand came away bloody.

Then the others were racing past her, Simon snagging her elbow as he stumbled along in the rear, and she wrapped her arm around his waist to hold him up as they ran.

They burst through the doors out into daylight, racing for the ambulance, a scattering of guards coming from their posts at the fence after them. Another bullet caught Gwen in the hip and she staggered, clutching at it, but Simon's arm was around her shoulders, pulling her along with him. Then Andy was yanking the ambulance doors open and the Time Agent was lifting Ianto in, scrambling up after him. Jack dove into the driver's seat and started the engine. Andy and the Time Agent were still at the doorway, hands reaching out, pulling John in, then Simon, then finally Gwen herself.

The doors were still open when they started to move; Gwen caught one, Andy the other, and they yanked them shut, collapsing against the sides of the ambulance.

"Hold tight!" Jack shouted. They were picking up speed. "They've closed off the gates!" Gwen braced herself as best she could, standing against the wall of the ambulance with nothing to hold onto. Then there was a crash of metal, and the entire ambulance rocked.

Gwen crashed against the side, with Andy landing nearly on top of her, the two of them barely able to hold each other up. He was laughing, like he couldn't stop himself. "Fuck me," he gasped, as the ambulance stabilized and they managed to catch their balance. "Oh, fuck me. Christ." He sagged away from Gwen, back towards the opposite wall, clutching at his shoulder.

Gwen panted for breath, staring around the ambulance. Simon was picking himself up slowly from where he'd sprawled on the floor. The Time Agent, Jack-who-wasn't, was sat next to him, cradling Ianto's body in his lap, eyes closed. Andy had dark smudges on his cheek, one hand pressed to his shoulder, still laughing breathlessly with that helpless, pained look on his face. And John was curled up on the floor, both hands clutching at his abdomen, the fingers black with blood.

"Shit," Gwen breathed, and crawled over to him, even though her head was spinning and her hip flared with pain every time she moved.

"All right back there?" Jack called from the front of the ambulance.

"John's hurt," she shouted in reply.

John opened his eyes, and coughed. "'S'all right," he muttered. "Job's done; that's what counts."

Simon nudged her away gently, peeling John's shirt up and away from the wound -- he hissed, but didn't try to flinch away. He looked strange without that ridiculous red jacket, almost naked. "Shot to the abdomen," Simon said, voice pitched loud enough that Jack could hear him. "I can probably clean him up, get him stable--"

"You'd better," Jack said. "Because I've got a lot of questions for him."

"Well, you'll have to wait," Simon snapped. He turned to Gwen. "I need the box behind you -- no, not that. The other one."

Andy helped her find it, and she passed it over. Simon pulled out gauze and antiseptic, and started to clean the blood off John's pale stomach. Gwen wanted to turn away, but there wasn't anywhere else to look. "Can't change what's already done, Jack," John mumbled. "Had to make sure it all-- 'S what we do, innit? Make things happen."

"No more talking," Simon said, tersely. He glared at the Time Agent, who looked as though he'd been about to speak, but snapped his mouth shut.

John's head lolled back against the floor of the ambulance; he almost appeared to be smiling. "Looks like you owe it all to me, Jack," he murmured. "Hope you're grateful."

There was a distant roar behind them, something like thunder. Or like an explosion. Andy swore as the ambulance pitched again, nearly knocking him off his feet. Simon didn't look up from his work, his hands steady and calm. The Time Agent pulled Ianto's limp body a little bit closer to his chest.

"Maybe I am," Jack said, quietly.

*

> File: IJ 3927
> 
> Report: EYES ONLY, [redacted], Conclusion
> 
> Given Subject's statements in re: [redacted], it must be considered possible that he is in fact the man seen in [redacted]. [File reference redacted.] Subject has accurately described the room depicted in [redacted], even down to the screen. Furthermore, he has named three persons known to have been on [redacted.]: [redacted], [redacted], and, of course, Captain Jack Harkness. [File reference redacted]. It is, however, worth noting that the events depicted within [redacted] directly contradict known facts, and almost certainly could not have happened within the universe as we know it today. It is entirely possible that [redacted] is nothing more than an elaborate fake. While it may in fact be that Subject is the man seen in [redacted], there is no reason to believe that this is at all relevant to the situation at hand, and this should not affect our current lines of experimentation.

*

Dr. Shepherd was waiting for them at Archie's apartment, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled neatly back. He watched them come in, Jack carrying Captain Hart, the Time Agent cradling Ianto's body, Gwen and Simon leaning on each other, and Andy following behind, leaning against the wall with his good arm, the other limp at his side. His eyes passed over them all, widening a little bit at the two Jack Harknesses with their burdens, then he stepped forward to press fingers to Ianto's neck. "Is he--"

"He'll be fine," Simon said, leaning heavily against Gwen, and she wondered how much longer she could hold him up. She reckoned that, between the two of them, she was the better off, but it was a near thing. "Captain Hart was hit in the lower abdomen. I cleaned it up as best I could, but I have no idea how deep the bullet went. If it hit something--"

"Right." Dr. Shepherd looked at Jack, then at the Time Agent, then back to Jack. "This way," he said, and hurried towards the back of the flat, Jack following in his wake.

Archie watched them go, then turned to the Time Agent. He didn't look particularly surprised to see him. "Let's put Mr. Jones in the spare room for now," he said, businesslike. "Come on."

That left Gwen and Andy to get Simon sat down on the couch. He was pale, his face pinched, and Gwen knew that she was going to have to do something about that bullet in his leg. "Andy, get me something to prop his leg up," she said. "And I'll need water. And some towels."

When she reached to pull Simon's shoes off, he tried to shoo her away. "It's -- you don't need to--"

"Shush," she said, dodging his hands, and managed to get his shoes off.

"But you're hurt," he said, trying to push himself up. "I should --"

Gwen pressed both hands to his shoulders, keeping him down. "It'll keep," she said, and when he opened his mouth to protest, she silenced him with a look. "It'll keep. Look, I may not be a doctor, but I've been shot a few times, yeah? I know when it's an emergency. And this isn't. Now let me have a look at you." Simon stared at her for a bit. Then his eyes closed, and he sagged back into the couch, letting Gwen fumble with his belt. "Raise up a bit."

Between the two of them, with one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders and the other pushing against the arm of the couch, they managed to get him lifted up just enough for Gwen to pull his trousers down; he let out a gasp as Gwen jostled his leg, but didn't complain.

Andy returned with a mixing bowl full of steaming water, and what looked like half of Archie's linen closet draped over his shoulders. He helped Gwen prop Simon's leg up on an ottoman (a towel spread on top of it to protect it from the blood), then crouched near them, watching anxiously as Gwen started daubing at Simon's wound with a wet cloth. "Anything I can do?" he asked.

"My kit," Simon said. "In the ambulance. There's antibiotics, painkillers..."

"Right." Andy tottered slightly as he stood, but gamely made his way back towards the door (for once, left unlocked) and down the stairs.

Gwen went back to cleaning the clotted blood away from Simon's wound, although the water in the bowl had already turned red. The wound didn't look especially deep, and she thought she might be able to get the bullet out, but decided against it. She'd done it once, but that was in the Hub, and it had been Owen's leg, Owen talking her through it. And even then, he'd spent most of the time lecturing her on how she should never, ever, try this under anything less than hospital conditions. She reckoned this flat, full of dusty anachronisms, wouldn't exactly suit. Her eyes flooded with unexpected tears; she wiped them with the back of her hand and kept going.

Simon reached out with an unsteady hand, brushing a bit of hair back from her face -- Gwen looked up at him, and saw his eyes fixed on the long scrape across her forehead. His fingers trailed down her face, from temple to cheekbone to jawline. When he pulled his hand away, there was dried blood on his fingertips. "That must hurt," he said, quietly.

"Stings a bit," Gwen said, as briskly as she could. She turned her attention back to cleaning up Simon's leg. "It's not bad."

"Are you dizzy, or nauseous, or --"

"Now stop that," Gwen said. When she reached out to dip her cloth in the bowl of water again, it was whisked away from her, and replaced with a fresh one. She looked up, confused, and saw Archie crouching next to her.

"All right, Miss Cooper?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Just..."

He patted her shoulder. "I'll let you get back to work, then. Then we'll see to getting your scratches patched up." He pushed back up to his feet and limped off.

Andy returned with a red box full of gauze and antiseptic ointment and various pills in little amber bottles. Gwen slathered the wound with ointment, hoping it would help, then layered gauze on top of it. She had to lift Simon's leg a little to wrap a long strip of gauze around it, tying it down to hold the rest of the bandages in place. He hissed, flinching against the pain, his eyes tight shut.

"There, now," she said, when she'd finished. "It'll hold you together for a bit. Let me get you something for the pain."

Simon murmured something, inaudible. "What was that?" Gwen asked, looking up at him. His eyes were still closed.

"I killed them," he said, quietly. "All those people. You didn't know about the bombs, but I did. Planned it out. I even..." Gwen pulled herself up onto the sofa next to him; he didn't seem to notice, still hadn't opened his eyes. "They weren't all involved. Janitors, some of the techs... They didn't all know what we were doing. I tried to make sure that most of them wouldn't be working, when... But even if they'd all been there, I still would have done it." Gwen pulled his head down to her shoulder, stroking his hair, murmuring soothing nonsense. "I was supposed to help people," Simon continued, his voice strangely detached, strangely calm. "I was supposed to save lives. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this."

Gwen closed her eyes, pressing her cheek to his forehead, still stroking his thick, dark hair. Her first kill had been... that bloke with the knife, she thought, the one who raped that girl. Accidental, but even still, the first was hard. Tosh had been the one to really help with that one-- the others all had a kind word, or a hot tea, or just a look of gratitude, but Tosh was the only one who'd really understood what it was like. But that had all been so long ago that Gwen wasn't sure she remembered how it had felt anymore. "It's all right, sweetheart," she murmured, petting and soothing him like he was a child. "It's all right now."

Simon buried his face in her neck. He wasn't crying, or even really shaking, but he clung to her as if his life depended on it. "It's all right," Gwen said again. She thought maybe she should be crying right now, but she didn't think she knew how. She was beyond exhaustion, in that strange place where nothing was real, and all the pain was so far away.

"Reckon you didn't have much of a choice," Andy said, as encouragingly as he could. It didn't ring entirely true, and Gwen frowned at him.

"Time Agents, playing around with us to get us to do what they think we should," Simon mumbled. "Fixed points. Don't know if I have any choice left at this point."

"There's always a choice." Gwen craned her neck to see Jack staring down at them from behind the sofa. There was blood on his hands. It always wound up that way, blood on all their hands. "Even if it's just a choice between running from your fate as long as possible or facing it head-on. It's still a choice."

"You don't have to make speeches on my account, Captain Harkness," the Time Agent said, walking into the living room. "I'm going back to the Time Agency. By this time tomorrow, I'll have forgotten that I ever came to this place." He faked a smile; it wasn't very convincing. "Can't say that bothers me too much. Don't know if there's much in this century to miss."

Jack shook his head; his face was a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "You'll change your mind."

The Time Agent raised his eyebrow. "I've been through your files," he said. "I've seen everything the Project has on you. Yeah, the good stuff is censored; it always is. But they weren't exactly trying to hide the fact that you've spent a century being killed and coming back to life. I don't have a problem with a little bit of pain every now and then, but I'm not that masochistic, and I doubt it'll be that different in a hundred and twenty years."

"It's not about that," Jack said, quietly, his expression completely unreadable.

"Then what?" The Time Agent gave Gwen a quick, scornful glance. "Don't tell me you've gotten attached to Torchwood after everything they did to you. Not to mention everything they've done to anyone else unlucky enough to come into contact with them. They're almost as bad as the Time Agency, and that's saying something." Jack's silence only seemed to egg the Time Agent on. "Then what? Family? Friends? Doesn't look like you've got very many of either, and most of them aren't talking to you anymore, and the ones that are..." He shrugged. "The only one who might manage to keep you company for more than an eyeblink is the pretty boy in the spare room, and I doubt that's going to last. Forever sounds good when you've only got fifty years at best, but--"

"Is there a point to this?" Jack asked.

"I'm scared," the Agent said, and just like that, the placid veneer fell completely away. "They always told us not to look into our own futures, not to see what was going to happen, and I always thought it wouldn't matter, that I wouldn't care. Well, it does, and I do. I've seen what happens next, and I don't want it. You've got to give me something, Captain Harkness. One reason why I should _want_ to be you. Because right now? Right now I can't stand the thought. Give me _something_."

Jack's face was blank, and Gwen's stomach twisted. She knew how much he hated being immortal, how much he'd longed for death. Wouldn't he avoid it all if he could? But if he did... Then Jack laughed. "You," he said to the Time Agent, "have a lot to learn." Then he took his doppelganger's face in both his hands, and gave himself a very long, very thorough kiss.

"That is the strangest thing I have ever seen," Andy murmured. Gwen couldn't help but agree. Not, of course, that she could look away.

The Time Agent's eyes were still closed when he and Jack broke apart. Jack pressed his lips to his doppelganger's forehead, then leaned over, and whispered something in his ear. Then he pulled away completely and stood, arms folded, as the Time Agent quietly collected himself.

"Well," the Agent said, after a moment. "If I learn how to do that, I suppose it's not all that bad."

Jack shook his head. "Go say goodbye to John," he said. "It's the least you can do." Then he turned to Andy, who was leaning against an easy chair, one hand pressed to his wounded shoulder. "Go with him," he said. "Get Dr. Shepherd to take a look at that arm of yours."

For a moment, it looked as though Andy was going to argue, but then his head sagged, and he pushed himself away from the chair. "All right, then," he said, making his way towards where the Time Agent stood. When Andy's steps faltered, the Agent sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist. The two of them shuffled out of the room, down the hallway, and vanished from sight.

Jack watched them for a few seconds, then crouched down in front of Gwen and Simon, picking up a bottle of pills from Simon's medical kit. He studied the label intently. For all he'd been so sure of himself while talking to the Time Agent, he seemed a good deal more at sea now.

"I owe you an explanation," Simon said, quietly. "Several, in fact."

Jack just shrugged, turning the bottle in his fingers so that the pills rattled inside. "How's your leg?" he asked.

"Haven't gotten a good look at it, really," Simon said.

"Hurts?" Jack asked, his eyes suddenly sharp over the pill bottle.

"Yes," Simon admitted. "Captain Harkness, I realize this must sound strange to you, but I--"

Jack opened the pill bottle, shook one pill out, broke it in half. "John needs to go to a hospital," he said. "And so do you. But--" he added, before Simon could object, "John's not ready to be moved yet, and you're not in enough danger for us to rush you over there and then come back for him. So if you wanted to sit with Ianto for a little bit--"

"Yes," Simon said again. "Yes, thank you. I'd like that very much."

He held his hand out, and Jack tipped a bit of pill fragment into it. Simon took the pill and swallowed it down dry. Jack held the other out to Gwen, but she shook her head. Her head ached, and her hip stung, but she'd been drugged enough for one day as it was. Taking anything now might knock her out for hours, and she wasn't ready for that. Not yet. "I've had worse," she said.

Jack just shook his head. "You're going to have to let someone look you over," he said.

"Not yet," she said, and was pleased at her ability to keep the pleading note out of her voice. "Dr. Shepherd's got his hands full now anyway, and Archie's said he'll patch me up when he can. But it'll keep a little longer."

Jack studied her for a moment, then sighed and reached out a hand, pulling her to her feet. He did the same for Simon, wrapping an arm around the doctor's waist when he stumbled, and supporting him as they headed towards the spare room.

For a moment, Gwen just watched them go, caught up in a strange reluctance. She wanted to see Ianto open his eyes, more than anything, but she knew he'd changed, and she wasn't sure what to do with that. She wanted her Ianto. She wanted her friend. She wasn't sure she could face starting over. But then Simon looked back over his shoulder at her, not speaking, just looking, and Gwen hurried to catch up with them. It would be hard; of course it would be hard. But she needed to be there. She needed to help, if she could.

Archie was in the spare room already, arranging chairs around the bed, two on the side nearest the door, one on the other side. Gwen wondered, briefly, how he'd made them all fit. "Bigger than it looks," Archie said with a smile, as though he'd read her thoughts. He took Simon's arm, took his weight from Jack's shoulders, and helped him into the lone chair. Jack and Gwen settled in on the opposite side -- Jack near the head of the bed, Gwen near the foot.

As soon as Simon was settled, he reached out to take Ianto's left hand, turning it over and pressing two fingers to the pulse point. "Nothing yet," he said, after a bit.

"Don't know if I'd say that," Archie said, his back turned to them, busying himself plugging in a lamp. "His wounds have all closed up, and it seems to me he's a bit pinker than before. Not that I can take credit for seeing it first-- that would be Minerva." The cat, curled up by Ianto's feet, turned an ear in Archie's direction, but otherwise paid him no heed. Archie perched the lamp on an old footstool, turning it on, although Gwen thought the room was already bright enough. "Is that enough light, d'you think? Or will he want more?"

"I couldn't say," Simon said. "The Observation room was always kept pretty bright; I'm not sure how easy it'll be for his eyes to adjust." Jack seemed to stiffen just a bit at that, but he didn't speak.

"I'll fetch us another, just in case," Archie said, and bustled from the room. Minerva blinked at his passing, then yawned and sat up, fixing her eyes on Ianto's face with a slightly unnerving intensity.

"Can I--" Jack didn't finish, but it didn't matter; Simon nodded, and Jack trailed his fingertips down Ianto's arm before picking up his hand, cradling it gently. "He's warm," Jack said, sounding a bit awed.

“It won’t be long now,” Simon said.

They waited in silence, all of them staring at Ianto. Someone, possibly the Time Agent, had taken off his hospital gown, cleaned him up and tucked him in. The wound to his chest was gone, and although he was still pale, he wasn't grey anymore. He didn't look dead, just asleep.

Gwen had seen Jack come back to life over and over again, watched him for days after Abaddon, but even that hadn’t been anything like this -- he was dead one minute, awake the next. This was worse, somehow, this slow surfacing. She closed her eyes, slumping into her chair. No one spoke for a long time. “There,” Simon said, at long last. “Feel that?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, after a moment. His voice was very hoarse.

“Keep your eyes on his chest,” Simon said. When Gwen opened her eyes, she saw him leaning forward as much as his wounded leg would allow, one hand resting on Ianto’s bare chest. It was still, no movement at all, and then she thought she saw something, the faintest of movements. “Nearly there now,” Simon said, glancing briefly at his watch. Then his expression twisted, and he shook his head, as if repulsed by what he’d just done. Gwen wondered if she’d see him wearing a watch any time in the next week. She didn’t think she would.

Jack was at the edge of his chair now, hovering over Ianto, still holding his hand. He glanced at Gwen; there was no reading his expression, and even if there was, she was too exhausted to try. “Is it always this hard?” Jack asked, softly. “With me, is it like this?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “With Abaddon, it was... it was bad, then.” Harder for Ianto than for her-- he’d only seen Jack come back the once, and didn’t really believe it. He’d come down to sit with her; he’d try with all his might, but he could never stay long.

Jack nodded, and turned back to Ianto.

The moments seemed to stretch-- Ianto was breathing visibly now, his heart was beating, and yet his eyes refused to open. Maybe something had finally broken and he’d never really come back, just a body with no mind. Or maybe he was already awake, and just couldn’t bear to open his eyes again. If he thought he was still in that place, in the Project, wouldn’t he cling to unconsciousness a little longer? What would he be like when he came to? Who was he, now that he couldn’t die?

Just when Gwen couldn't stand it any longer, and knew she was about to bolt from the room, Minerva padded up the bed to sit on Ianto's chest, staring at his face. Seconds later, Ianto took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. "I feel as though something's sitting on me," he said, quietly.

"That's Minerva," Simon said. He was smiling, just a little bit; it gave Gwen a bit of comfort.

Ianto's eyes flickered open; he frowned, squinting, then opened his eyes wide, as if straining to see. Minerva just watched him, inscrutable. "Hello, moggie," Ianto murmured. "Why is there a cat on my chest? No, don't tell me-- you've run out of legitimate experiments to run, and now it's down to old wives' tales. Although I have to say, I don't think she'll do that well at stealing my breath, not now that I'm fully-grown. You really should have done this when I was an infant."

Minerva leaned in, sniffed delicately at his lips, then turned and padded back down the bed, leaping off to the floor and leaving the room, brushing past Archie as she went.

"I think I offended her," Ianto said. "It's dim in here. Trying something new, are we? Or is it... No. Of course. The alarms. I remember now. Has something happened? Captain Hart again?"

"Something like that," Simon said, quietly. "Do you need more light? We could--"

"No, no." It was strange, how Ianto lay completely still, even though he was no longer held down by restraints, or attached to a phalanx of machines. Like he'd grown so accustomed to being pinned down he couldn't recognize that he wasn't. "It's rather soothing, actually. Although I'd be more comforted if I didn't think a large quantity of guards were about to burst in." He laughed, then. "It's the cat, isn't it? The Project's been infiltrated by a cat."

"What else do you remember?" Simon asked. "After the alarms. What happened then?"

Ianto closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillow. "They've got you interrogating me now, haven't they?" he asked. "You might not be bad at it, come to that. All right then; after the alarms... you forced the door open, came running in, and you had people with you, you had..." Ianto's whole body stiffened; the limp hand still cradled in Jack's turned, clutching desperately at Jack's fingers. "No," Ianto whispered. "It wasn't real. It was the drugs, dreams, hallucinations... It wasn't real. It's never real."

"Ianto?" Simon leaned forward as best he could. "Ianto, open your eyes."

"Can't," Ianto said. Gwen's heart broke a little when he said that; she reached out and set one hand on his ankle, trying to reassure him somehow.

"Why not?"

Ianto drew in a great, hitching breath, then another. "Because it's not real," he said, quietly. "And I'd like to... just once, I'd like to pretend. Just for a little bit longer."

"Ianto." It was Jack, this time; Jack leaning in, both his hands cupped around Ianto's thin fingers. "Ianto, open your eyes."

And, possibly due to surprise, possibly just because it was Jack, Ianto did so. His eyes met Jack's, locked there. The two of them just stared at each other for the longest time. "Jack," Ianto said.

"Hi." Jack's voice was so small at that moment that it barely even sounded like him.

Ianto pushed at the bed with his free hand, trying to lever himself up to sitting; Jack leaned over and wrapped an arm around Ianto's shoulders, helping to prop him up. Ianto's eyes flicked nervously around the room, taking it all in: Simon half-collapsed in his chair; Archie in the doorway with a lamp in his hands; Gwen at the foot of the bed, her hand still resting on his ankle; and Jack, hovering halfway between his own chair and Ianto's bed, propping Ianto up against his own broad chest. The wood panelling, the dim lamps, the cheap woolen blanket -- Ianto seemed to be trying to look at everything at once, his breath starting to come short and fast.

He stared around himself for a long time, then abruptly snapped his eyes shut, burying his face in his hands. "I think I've lost my mind," he groaned.

"You haven't," Jack said, hugging him a little closer. "But it'll probably feel that way for a little while."

"Oh," Ianto said. "That's reassuring." But his eyes opened again, and this time, he was looking straight at Gwen. "You're hurt," he said, almost accusingly. "I thought you weren't going to get hurt this time."

"I wasn't trying, you know," Gwen said. She wanted to laugh, but it ended up more like a sob. "Really, it's not that bad."

Ianto frowned, apparently contemplating this. Then he pushed himself forward, scooting down the bed (Jack's arm still tight around him, Jack's body following his), until he was close enough to reach out, brush the hair from Gwen's face, trace careful fingers around the long scrape on her forehead, then down her cheekbones, around her chin, a light tap on the end of her nose. "Is it really you?" he asked, his voice soft and amazed.

"We could ask you the same thing," Jack said, although his grip on Ianto's shoulders never slackened.

It was the wrong thing to say; Ianto's shoulders slumped, his body folding inwards. "Do you know, Jack, I'm honestly not sure I could answer you," Ianto said, quietly. "I don't... I feel like... I don't even remember who I'm supposed to be anymore. Everything..." He waved his hand. "It's like it happened to someone else. Stories I tell myself to pass the time. The white room, the experiments... nothing else feels real. On the off chance that I'm not hallucinating, could I have a jumper or something? It's a little chilly in here."

Simon attempted to push himself out of his chair, but Archie stopped him. "I'll go," he said. "You shouldn't put weight on that leg." And then he was off, cane thumping on the floor, lamp still in his hand.

"I don't think I know that man," Ianto said. Gwen rather thought he was panicking, under the surface. "Do I know him?"

"Kind of," Jack said. "It's Archie. Torchwood Two."

Ianto looked around the room again, until something seemed to slot into place, and he smiled. "He said he'd keep going regardless," he said. "That the Queen herself could tell him to retire, and he'd tell her to bugger off." He cast an approving look down the hallway where Archie'd vanished, then frowned. "Am I in Glasgow, then?" Jack nodded. "And I've been here..."

"Since you died in Thames House," Simon said; the words obviously cost him. "Mr. Jones-- Ianto-- I just wanted to say... I realize that there's nothing I can do to--"

"It's over now, isn't it?" Ianto's eyes were fixed on his hands; he looked strangely lost. "The Project, the white room, all of the... It's over. I'm free."

He didn't quite sound happy; Gwen looked up at Jack, but his eyes were fixed on Ianto. "You're free," Jack said. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know," Ianto whispered. He turned then, looking Jack in the eye. "Jack... I'm scared."

Jack nodded, as if he'd been expecting that. Perhaps he had. "I know," he said, and kissed Ianto's forehead, hugging him closer. "It's okay. Welcome back, Ianto Jones."


	5. Each and Every One of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dreams are discussed, and we learn what is real, and how we are to cope with it.

> File: VALIANT FILES
> 
> Report: UNKNOWN VIDEOTAPE (transcript)
> 
> [footage looks to have been taken from a position near the ceiling, in the corner of the room. security camera, probably. what we can see of the room is white -- white bed, white floor, white walls, white chair, white cupboards. there is something black hanging in the opposite corner. possibly some sort of television screen.
> 
> there is a MAN on the bed. he is dressed in white scrubs. he does not appear to be alive.]

*

_Ianto is crumpled on the floor between the cyberwoman and the pizza girl, face buried in his hands, sobbing as if his heart will break, and Gwen stands frozen, watching. There's so much she doesn't understand, so much she doesn't know, can't know... She lowers her gun; Tosh and Owen are next. Jack still has his raised. He'd said that he was going to execute Ianto, he said... And the look on his face..._

_Then Jack lowers his gun, and without entirely knowing why she's doing it, Gwen rushes to Ianto's side._

_She catches him as he falls backwards, choked sounds coming out through the gag, but he's alive, alive, only bleeding a little where the cleaver dug into his neck, and she pulls him in, wrapping her arms tight around him as the building shakes, and then there's a tractor smashing through the wall, dust and smoke and rubble falling around it..._

_Ianto's hand protruding from the rubble, and for a moment, Gwen is completely sure... But then his fingers close around hers, tight, and she hears his voice saying her name, and she starts to pull..._

_"Gwen," he says, still holding the woman in red captive, one arm around her throat, one hand twisting her arm behind her back. And it isn't possible; he's not who he's supposed to be; Jack is the one who can't die, and Ianto is the one who... "You're alive."_

_And the woman in red is stumbling away from them and Gwen is crushed to Ianto's chest, her gun trapped between their bodies, and it never occurs to her to push him away, to ask him how or why or what happened, how he's here and alive when she saw him die. It doesn't matter. He's alive. He's alive..._

Gwen gasped back to consciousness, to the campbed and the closet, to the pain in her hip and the throbbing in her temple and it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Ianto was alive, and he was with them, and everything was going to be all right now. She sank back down onto the bed, her breath evening out, heart rate slowing.

It was all right now. Everything was all right.

Then she caught movement, just out of the corner of her eye, and sat up straight, blood pounding through her veins and everything speeding up. There was someone standing in the shadows, someone tall and thin, and for a moment, she wished she still had her gun, wished she hadn't left it abandoned in the ambulance when they'd arrived at Archie's flat. But then the figure stepped forward, and it was only Ianto after all, clad in someone else's jumper and jeans, hanging loosely on his skinny body. He'd shaved at some point, but his hair was still too long, and the shadows on his face made him hard to recognize. "Sorry," he mumbled, not quite looking at her. "I didn't mean to... You were having a dream."

Gwen swallowed hard; she wasn't sure why. Only he didn't seem entirely himself, and there was something worrying in it. "Yeah," she said, softly, and didn't say anything else.

"You were on the ship," Ianto said, quietly. "It's where you go now. Whenever you sleep. It's always the ship, the running, the guns... And then you fall, and you're gone. Every time I sleep."

"Ianto," Gwen said, but there wasn't anything else she could say.

He shook his head, hands clenched into fists at his side. "It's not real," he said, and his voice was barely a whisper. "Never happened. Couldn't have happened. Jack left, and we went to the Himalayas, and then we came back, and Jack came back, and none of it happened, none of it is real, it's not--"

Gwen pushed herself up to her feet, reaching out.

Ianto flinched back from her touch. Then he bowed his head, took a deep breath, and tried to smile for her. It fell flat. "Come on," he said, brushing her hand with one finger, as if he was frightened of anything more. "I'll make you a cup of tea."

Before Gwen could call him back, he had stumbled into the hallway.

She followed after.

It wasn't particularly surprising to see Jack waiting in the hallway, as though he'd been listening in on their conversation, monitoring them both. He reached out as Ianto brushed past, apparently trying to aid Ianto's unsteady steps, but Ianto flinched again, colliding with the opposite wall in his haste to get away. "Ianto," Jack said, his hand still outstretched.

"I'm fine," Ianto muttered, pushing off the wall and starting towards the kitchen again. His steps were slower now; more deliberate, as if he was concentrating very hard on getting the movement right. Gwen wondered how long it had been since he'd actually been allowed to walk. "Don't need you cutting my food into little bites for me, holding me up and leading me back and forth down the hallway so I can get my 'exercise' in. Keeping me in condition so the tests won't be inaccurate. I'm in perfectly fine condition. I'm perfectly fine."

Gwen looked at Jack, hoping for some clue as to how to handle this, but his eyes were fixed on Ianto. Gwen could do nothing more than follow after them, feeling particularly useless and lost.

"Never said you weren't," Jack said, quietly, and tucked his hands in his pockets, as if to keep himself back from touching Ianto again.

"I can _walk_ ," Ianto insisted. "I can walk, and I can make the tea. Maybe I can't do anything else, but I can do that." He pushed through the beaded curtain, Jack and Gwen still trailing in his wake.

"You can," Jack agreed, as Ianto started opening and shutting cupboards. Ordinarily, Gwen would've thought he was just searching out Archie's tea things, but he'd stare right at the mugs, then close the door again. Stare at the tea, shut the door again. "But you don't have to."

"I _do_ have to." Ianto's voice was getting louder now, almost angry. "I have to take care of you. I can't be the one getting rescued all the time. You need rescuing, too. You need it more than me."

"I know," Jack said.

Ianto had finally remembered what he was meant to be doing, at least for the moment; he grabbed a mug down from the shelf, turning it over in his hands. "I was going to save you," he said, quietly. "It was all I had, at the end. I was going to get free and I was going to find you and I was going to save you. And it would have been all right, even if it hadn't worked, because neither of us could die." He glanced furtively at Gwen. "I didn't want anyone to die for me. No one was supposed to die." The hands holding the mug trembled. "You go to the ship. You find me. You run. You..." The mug tumbled from his hands, smashing on the tile. "Every time I sleep."

For a few long moments, they all stood staring at the mug smashed on the floor. Gwen couldn't have guessed what was going through Jack's head; all she knew was that she wanted to help Ianto, but didn't know at all where to start. She needed Jack to show her a path, but he was silent, motionless as a statue.

Then Andy, of all unlikely angels, stumbled into the kitchen, one arm bound up in a sling. He rubbed his eyes, looked at all three of them, looked down at the smashed mug on the floor, then, sighing, pushed past Gwen to get Archie's dustpan and broom from a nearby cupboard. "All right, Ianto?" he asked, passing the broom over.

Ianto blinked, taking the broom without thinking. Slowly, he began pushing bits of ceramic into the dustpan. It wasn't sweeping, exactly, but it was clearly the closest he could manage. "Not bad. What'd you do to your arm, then?"

"Oh, you know." Andy tipped the remains of the mug out into the wastebasket, put the broom and dustpan away again, and went to fill up the electric kettle. Ianto turned the taps for him when he couldn't manage one-handed. "Thrilling gunfights, dashing heroics... brilliant rescue all around, really. Except for the uniform; grey never really did suit me."

Ianto got the tea down; Andy measured it out. "Can't be worse than that jacket you used to wear. Blinding, that thing was."

"Sort of the point, though, wasn't it?" Ianto opened the cupboard; Andy found the sugar. Andy brought out the spoons; Ianto got down the mugs. "Anyway, I see you've got over being dead. Didn't take very long, did it?"

And Ianto actually smiled; it was the faintest of things, heavily overlaid with bafflement, but Andy had made Ianto smile. "Mild case, really. Just needed a bit of a rest, and it took care of itself."

"Glad to hear it." The kettle boiled, and Ianto poured out the water. "Oh, you'll never guess who switched codes and went to the Crusaders." Ianto frowned, clearly puzzled, and Andy shook his head. "Gareth Thomas, that's who," he said.

Ianto still looked puzzled; Gwen glanced at Jack, and saw a way to help. "Rugby, Jack," she said, and carefully didn't look at Ianto to see his face clear up. "You know, men in shorts, rolling about in the mud, groping each other--"

"I thought he was retiring," Ianto said, giving Jack and Gwen quick glances before going to pour out the tea. Gwen thought he looked a bit more relaxed, a bit more himself. "All the injuries and everything, I mean..."

"Yeah, but that's Alfie, innit? Reckon he'll go when they drag him off the field." Andy picked a mug up off the counter, carefully cradling it in his uninjured hand. "Not that I've forgiven him for the move to Leckwith, mind."

"Ah, you're not still on about that, are you?" Ianto passed mugs to Jack and Gwen with barely a look at them, before picking his own up and following Andy out into the living room. "It's not like it was his idea."

"He could've stopped it if he'd a mind to." Andy's voice drifted back to them through the beaded curtain. "Tell me it doesn't bother you that they left Cardiff Arms. Go on and tell me."

"It doesn't bother me that they left Cardiff Arms," Ianto repeated, dutifully, and Andy let out a noise of disgust.

Gwen glanced at Jack over her mug of tea. "I feel as though I've missed something important," she said, quietly.

Jack's gaze strayed out towards the curtain; Andy was still ranting about Leckwith Stadium on the other side. "The first time I took him to Flat Holm, there was this man, one of the patients. He'd forgotten his name, and we couldn't... His face was..." Jack gestured, rather uselessly. "We called him Sam. I don't remember why. He couldn't tell you anything about himself, where he'd come from, what he'd done, and he wouldn't talk at all about what he'd seen. But he could tell you anything you wanted to know about butterflies. So that was what he and Ianto talked about. An hour at least, just... talking about butterflies. Sam was so happy." Jack closed his eyes; for a moment, Gwen thought he was going to start crying. But then he straightened himself up, smoothed out his shirt, and pushed his way through the curtains into the living room.

*

> Report: UNKNOWN VIDEOTAPE (transcript) (cont'd.)
> 
> [the MAN lies on the floor for a few moments. then he turns over on his stomach and begins to do push-ups. he does fifty push-ups before lying on the floor again. then he turns onto his back and begins to do sit-ups.]

*

"I don't know, Rhys, it's just... I mean, I knew it wouldn't be... But he's so... It's just hard." Gwen swallowed back the lump in her throat; talking to Rhys made the situation that much more _real_ somehow, had always done, at least since she'd finally told him what special ops really meant.

Rhys sighed down the other end of the line. "I know, love," he said. "But, look, Gran's got the best of care, right? She's got you. She'll be all right in no time at all. You'll see."

"I know," Gwen said, but it sounded feeble. She didn't know. She didn't really know anything. "It's just... And I might have to stay on longer than we planned, and I hate to--"

"My mum's coming down on Monday to watch Eddie, so I can go back to work. She's quite keen on it, actually. Bit of a break for her, plus she gets to spoil her grandson rotten." Gwen gaped, rather glad that Rhys couldn't see her over the phone. He'd already planned it out. She wondered, sometimes, how he knew half the things he knew. "It's all right, Gwen, really. Do what you have to do. We'll be here when you get back."

"Rhys," Gwen said, and then stopped. She didn't know what she wanted to say.

"You're welcome," he said. "Mind you, once Gran's on the mend, I expect on having her over for dinner. I've missed her, too, you know. Besides, hospital food and all; she'll need to be fed up a little."

"Promise," Gwen murmured, and hoped with all her heart she'd be able to keep it.

"You can even bring that cousin of yours, if you want." That was a surprising concession; Rhys had never really been keen on having Jack around their house, even if Ianto was with him; some sort of lingering suspicion, perhaps. She knew he'd always sort of thought that she and Jack... "How's he doing?" Rhys asked, and his voice was a little soft. "Reckon this is hard on him."

"Jack's..." Gwen stared at the door, wishing she could see through it, out into the rest of Archie's flat. "I don't know," she admitted, quietly. Jack had barely said anything the whole night, just stood in the corner, clutching his tea in his hands, watching Ianto. There'd been so many emotions on his face that Gwen couldn't have sorted a one of them out. "I really don't."

"It'll sort itself out, you'll see." The worst of it was that Rhys couldn't quite make himself sound like he believed it. He wanted to, but he didn't. Not quite. "Don't worry about us, Gwen. Go on. Go be with your family for a bit."

_Her family._ And that was the heart of it, wasn't it? That was what Rhys understood, better than she could have ever hoped for. And that was what would help them, in the end. This was her family. "Thanks, love. I needed this."

"What I'm for," Rhys said, almost lightly. But he was serious when he added, "Just call when you need to, all right? Don't wait 'til you've calmed down, or think you don't want to bother me, or... If you need anything, anything at all. Call me."

"I will. I promise. I love you."

"I love you, too. Talk to you soon, sweetheart."

"Bye." Gwen made herself hang up then, made herself be the first to do it. Then she stared at the door to her little closet, lost in thought. She didn't really want to go back out again, didn't really want to face Jack's silence, Ianto's faltering attempts to engage the world he'd been so long away from. But they were her family, and they needed her.

She pushed herself up to her feet and left the room in a hurry, not looking where she was going, and knocked into something bony and surprisingly hard, the impact knocking her phone from her hands. The man she'd hit stumbled backwards, and she reached her hands out without thinking, to catch him and pull him upright. This time, Ianto didn't fight the help, but he was lighter than she'd remembered, and pulling too hard brought him nearly on top of her, the two of them toppling backwards into the other wall. "Sorry," Gwen gasped, finally catching her own balance, one hand on Ianto's waist to steady him, the other on her hip, which stung from the exertion. "Sorry, Ianto, I--"

"No worries." There was something oddly breathless in his voice; when she looked up at him, he was almost laughing. "Just... getting the hang of this whole standing up, walking around thing, I reckon. World's a bit different from up here." He glanced down at her hand, still clutching at her hip. "Didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Twinges a bit, is all." Aware of Ianto's eyes on her, she slipped the hand inside the waistband of her scrub bottoms, patting gingerly at her bandages. The gauze felt damp, and when she pulled her hand out again, there was a trace of blood on her fingertips. She wiped it off on the trousers and forced herself to meet Ianto's worried eyes. "Just scrapes, really. It'll be fine, Ianto."

"Archie says Dr. Shepherd's coming round tomorrow, to check up on Andy and the rest of us," Ianto said. "You should get him to look at it."

"It's been looked at." Despite the faint twinge of irritation, though, Gwen was rather pleased at Ianto's concern. It was very like him, to be so worried.

"It should be looked at by someone who isn't Archie." There was still a faint smile playing around the corners of Ianto's lips. Then he glanced down at the mobile abandoned at their feet, battery popped out of the back, and winced. "Your phone," he murmured, and bent down to scoop it up, only to stumble forward, catching himself with one hand on Gwen's shoulder, her arms going up to brace him.

"Leave it," she said. His head was still bowed, the two of them so close that he was breathing into her neck, and all Gwen wanted to do was cradle him against her, pull him close and hold him until she was sure he was real, until all her doubt was finally gone. She didn't; she got him carefully on his feet again, and then let him go. "We'll get someone able-bodied to take care of it later."

"Guess that means Jack, then," Ianto said. "Unless he manages to hurt himself making supper. Which isn't impossible."

"Can't believe you're letting him cook," Gwen said.

Ianto shrugged. "He does all right. Better than me, anyway. Besides, it's probably not wise to let me on my own near stoves or knives or anything right now." Then his eyes turned abstracted, and he frowned. "At least, I remember him being a good cook. It's... well. It's been a while since I've seen him." There was a question written on his face.

Somehow, it had never occurred to Gwen that Ianto wouldn't know how long had passed. She'd no idea how to break it to him, and wound up just stating the facts. "Two years," she said.

"Two years," Ianto repeated. He stared off, down the hall, going absent again. "I had wondered. Tried to keep track at first, but... no windows, so I couldn't see if it was light or dark outside. My lights were always on, of course. And I didn't... Well. I was sedated most of the time. Slept a lot. Sort of... threw off my inner clock, a bit. So I lost track of the time." He sighed, leaning back against the opposite wall. "I lost track of everything. Couldn't tell what was real, what was the drugs, memories, dreams... The only time I was clear-headed was when they were..." He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, flinching against remembered pain. "I can feel the wall behind me. I want to believe that it's real. But it always seems real. Even when it's not, it feels like it is, and I... There's nothing left that I can trust. Just the experiments. Those are real. They hurt, but at least they're real."

Gwen swallowed hard, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, Ianto..."

He looked right at her, and even now, he looked so young. "But I'm trying, Gwen," he said. "I _am_ trying."

For some reason, that was what did it; Gwen closed the distance between them in one step, burying her face in his chest and clutching him tight, hands fisted in his borrowed sweater. After a long pause, Ianto finally lifted his arms, holding her carefully, one hand stroking her hair. "It'll be all right," he whispered to her bowed head. "I'll get better. I promise, Gwen."

He had somehow wound up the one comforting her. It only made Gwen cry harder.

*

> (transcript)(cont'd)
> 
> [the MAN sits on the bed, pillow held to his chest. he is looking in the general direction of the screen.]

*

In the end, Gwen let Dr. Shepherd look at her wounds, in exchange for Ianto submitting tamely to a full physical. His balance was still wonky, and he tired easily -- couldn't stand up for very long, couldn't walk far on his own, couldn't stomach more than a few mouthfuls of food at a time no matter how hungry he felt. It wasn't so much a matter of trying to figure out what was wrong with him -- it was obvious that, although he'd come back from the dead, he hadn't quite come all the way to normal, that he was still fighting the effects of his long imprisonment. It was more figuring out how much damage had healed, and how much further they'd have to take him. And Dr. Shepherd was more qualified than any of the rest of them to make that call.

Also, it gave them a chance to get Ianto's present ready.

Gwen hadn't been too sure about it, really. It seemed a bit... Well. It seemed a bit ridiculous, really, to think that such a small thing could help. But there was no denying the way Ianto's face lit up when he stepped into the lounge room (moving carefully, Dr. Shepherd behind, waiting to reach out and catch him if he fell), took a deep breath, and saw Jack waiting for him, mug outstretched. "Only I figured that if they weren't feeding you at that... at that place, then they definitely weren't giving you any of this," Jack explained.

Ianto reached out with both hands, his fingers skimming over Jack's as he took the mug, pulled it close and inhaled. "Thank you," he murmured, almost to the mug more than to Jack. Then he took a sip, and his face twisted. He covered fast, but not fast enough.

"That bad, huh?" Jack asked, trying to sound jokey. It didn't quite work.

"It's fine," Ianto said, quietly. "It's just..." He gave Jack an apologetic look. "Seeing as black coffee is something of an acquired taste, I suppose it stands to reason that it can be lost, given enough time."

"Yeah," Jack said. "Stands to reason." He held his hand out. "It doesn't matter. I'll put some milk in, or--"

Ianto pulled the mug into his chest almost protectively. "It's fine," he said again. "I'll just have to... re-acquaint myself. That's all." He and Jack studied each other for a few moments.

"Might be better if you didn't," Dr. Shepherd suggested, lightly. "Simon would kill us both if he knew you had that. No caffeine. It's on your diet sheet."

"Diet sheet," Ianto repeated, sounding simultaneously amused and disgusted. He took another sip of his coffee, carefully not flinching at the bitterness this time. "I'm not an invalid."

"You've been on an extremely restricted diet for the past two years," Dr. Shepherd said, mildly. "There are certain things that you should avoid eating, for the moment. And certain things that your body needs, protein and the like. You've got to give yourself time."

Ianto nodded, still holding his coffee tight. "But I can have this," he said, quietly. "Just a little."

Dr. Shepherd sighed. "Simon's going to kill us both," he said, again.

"I'd like to see him," Ianto said, after a moment. "And Captain Hart, if he's well enough. I'd like to thank them, for..."

"There'll be time," Dr. Shepherd said. "We'll be sending Simon home in two or three days, and Captain Hart will be--"

"No," Ianto said, too fast, and his expression had gone steely. "You don't understand. I'd like to visit them while they're in there. In the hospital. I need to... I just need to."

For a moment, Gwen didn't quite understand, but then she saw the look on Jack's face, and she did after all. The hospital, with its white walls, its stretchers and machines, would be very like the Project. Enough so that, given time to think about it, Ianto would most assuredly never want to go inside a hospital again. Not unless he forced his way past the fear.

Jack laid his hand on Ianto's shoulder; Ianto stiffened slightly under the weight of it, then relaxed again. "I'll take you in tomorrow," he said, quietly. "Assuming they're both able to have visitors?"

Dr. Shepherd studied them both for a moment, then, finally, let out a soft sigh and nodded. "Afternoon would be best," he said. "So you're not coming around the shift change. If something changes, or if you feel you can't--"

"No," Ianto said, and it was only a little hesitant. He glanced back at Jack, curling his fingers a little tighter around his coffee, before adding, "I can do this."

Dr. Shepherd smiled. "I'm sure they'll both be glad to see you," he said.

Ianto nodded. His posture was shifting, Gwen thought; it was the subtlest thing, but he was leaning back into Jack just a little bit more with every second, unconsciously taking shelter in Jack's strength. It was strangely heartening. "I'd like to thank them," he said again. "For everything. And I..." Another look over his shoulder at Jack, then a glance at Gwen, Andy, Archie, before turning back to Dr. Shepherd. "All of you; I haven't--"

"You don't need to," Dr. Shepherd said. "I was glad to help."

The others all nodded, or murmured agreement; only Jack stayed silent, his hand steady on Ianto's shoulder, his eyes fixed on the back of Ianto's head. "Still," Ianto murmured, and took another sip of his coffee.

*

> (cont'd)
> 
> [the MAN is lying on the bed. his hands cover his face. it is possible that he's crying.]

*

He was leaning heavily on Jack when Archie unlocked the door to let them in, Jack's arm wrapped tight around his waist, a paper takeaway cup clasped tightly in both Ianto's hands. "Stairs," Ianto said, as Jack helped him to the couch. "Stairs are a challenge."

"I've often thought so myself," Archie said, thumping his cane against the floor for emphasis as he strode to the bookcase. But Ianto didn't look just a bit tired and winded from climbing the stairs; his face was pale, not pink, his eyes dark-circled. He barely seemed strong enough to lift his cup to his lips. Gwen glanced at Jack, and saw him staring at Ianto, expression deeply pained. "Still, this should make the trip worthwhile for you," Archie added, pulling out an old, battered journal and taking it to Ianto. "Took me a while to find it, but I knew it'd be something you'd like. We talked about it the once, actually, though I'm not sure if you'd remember."

Ianto brightened a little when he saw the book; moving carefully and slowly, like an old man, he leaned forward and set his cup down on a nearby table, watching Archie settle in next to him. "I feel like I should have gloves," he said, as the book was laid out between them.

"For this one, you don't need them," Archie said. "It's not paper, not as such. I've never been quite sure if this book is very, very old, or very, very young. Perhaps it's both. One can be both."

For just a moment, Ianto looked up at Jack. Jack turned abruptly away, into the kitchen. "It's beautiful," Ianto said, softly. "Don't suppose any of this has ever been translated."

"In a sense, in a sense." Archie turned a page; Ianto's hands trembled near the book, but wouldn't touch it. "Mind you, translation's a bit unnecessary when you've got these gorgeous pictures."

Gwen hovered there, leaning against the armchair, watching Archie and Ianto pore over the mysterious book together. But it was obvious that Ianto was comfortably settled, at least for the moment. The same could not be said for Jack.

She followed him into the kitchen; he was standing at the counter, an apple in one hand, a knife in the other, his eyes fixed someplace far away. "Simon's going to kill you, you know," she said softly. He turned, giving her a hard stare. "Giving him coffee and all."

"Hot chocolate," Jack said, turning away from her, back to the cutting board. The knife went through the apple, Jack applying a little more force than he needed to; the blade struck hard against the cutting board. "It's hot chocolate. I figured... warm milk. Couldn't hurt. And at least it's nutritious."

Gwen watched him chop the apple, put it on a plate. Andy had begun claiming that it was impossible for him to eat proper meals one-handed, that it would be easier just to have cheese and crackers and such out rather than putting on three big feeds a day. It was, of course, also quite convenient for Ianto, but that was a coincidence. Or at least, they acted like it was. "He's not sleeping at all, is he," Gwen said.

Jack rinsed the knife, pulled a block of cheese out from the refrigerator, unwrapped it. "He slept a little, that first night," Jack said, after a few moments. "You saw what he was like, after. I should have..." He started chopping, the knife coming down hard against the cutting board. "I was on the fire escape. Wanted some fresh air. I didn't realize he'd woken up until... Since then, he dozes, from time to time. Maybe for a few minutes. Wakes up terrified."

Gwen swallowed hard. "He's dreaming about the Valiant." _Every time I sleep_ , he'd said.

Jack turned around, leaning his back against the countertop. He looked at her for a long, long time, until she was fighting the urge to duck her head, find some way to hide from him. "You too, huh?" he asked.

Gwen sighed. No help for it, really. "Bits and pieces," she said, quietly. "Mixed up with a hundred other things. But I wasn't there very long, really. Not much to dream of."

Jack nodded. He didn't seem especially surprised. "I remember the gunshots," he said, his eyes drifting back down towards the floor. "I remember thinking... There were a few prisoners on the Valiant. Myself, the Doctor, the Joneses--" He glanced up at her intake of breath. "Martha's family. Not Ianto's." Gwen nodded; so _that_ was how he'd met Martha. The two of them had always been so cagey about it. "We'd caused some trouble the day before. Just a distraction, really, stalling for time. But when I heard the shooting start, I thought... It wasn't until after, when I saw that they were still alive, that I realized." Jack had gone back to staring at the floor, and Gwen had to lean in slightly to hear his next words. "He said he'd save me. I didn't think he'd meant it."

"You knew he was there?"

"I knew someone was there," Jack said. "I didn't think-- I watched Ianto die, Gwen. Ianto, Tosh, Owen... I watched them all die." He looked at her again, searching, then let out a sigh. "You saw it, too, only you don't remember. Not that it matters now, after..." He didn't finish; mentally, she finished it for him: _after seeing them all die again_. It seemed ridiculously cruel, that Jack should have to suffer those deaths twice. "But I knew that there was someone else on the Valiant, another prisoner. We... communicated. Morse code."

Jack's hand cupping Ianto's face, his thumb tapping along the cheekbone, passing his message along. "TW1," she said, softly.

Jack nodded. "That was his call sign. I should've..." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. I didn't know who he was. Just that he was a prisoner, in a white room, where the lights were always on."

_My lights were always on, of course._ Gwen shivered. "Christ, no wonder he's remembering it now. It must have been like living the same thing twice."

"Yeah." Jack sighed again. "I looked for him, after it was all over. I thought that, even if they'd killed him, there'd be a body. There'd be something. But there was nothing. His room was there, the screen was there, but he was just... gone. He must have gotten off the ship somehow, taken you with him. If he hadn't... If he hadn't, you wouldn't be here now."

Gwen leaned back against the doorframe, closing her eyes. In the silence, she could hear voices from the other room -- Andy asking a question, maybe; Archie's voice answering; A low murmur from Ianto. She wonderd if Ianto'd been the one to get them off the ship. Somehow, she didn't think so. She didn't think he'd have left Jack behind. Which left her wondering who'd been responsible for it. And why they'd done it. "Jack?" she asked, after a moment. "What do you mean, 'the screen was there?'"

Jack bit his lip. He didn't look at her. "You know how hospitals have televisions in the corner of the room, up on the wall? So the patients have something to look at? His room on the Valiant had a screen like that. Only it was a direct feed to the security camera footage of the engine room. Where I was being held."

He didn't say any more than that. He didn't need to. "And Glasgow Royal's got televisions in every room, don't they?"

"Got to give the patients something to look at," Jack said.

Andy was still asking questions in the living room; Ianto's response was soft, indistinct. "It was bad, wasn't it?" Gwen asked. "Him at the hospital. It was bad."

Finally, Jack met her eyes. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "But he did fine. He was... He was fine. Excuse me." And he picked up his plate of food, and swept past her, through the beaded curtain.

*

> [the MAN is sitting curled up outside the cabinets. his hands cover his face. he is rocking back and forth, as if in some kind of distress.]

*

It wasn't the same, curled up on her campbed, the phone pressed to her ear, Rhys's voice coming from so far away. It wasn't the same without him to hold her, rub her back, pull her down into his shoulder and wrap himself around her. It wasn't the same at all.

But it helped. It did help.

And when it was over and done with, the tears all wiped away, the goodbyes and I love yous said, the mobile tucked back in Gwen's pocket, when she'd cleaned herself up and made herself as presentable as she could, she stepped into the living room to find Ianto asleep on the sofa, a pink afghan draped over his long body. Jack was curled up on the floor by his legs, studying something on Simon's laptop. He had one hand on the keyboard -- the other reached back, resting on Ianto's legs, fingers curled around the calf muscle, thumb absently rubbing Ianto's shin. He didn't look up at Gwen's approach. "How's Rhys?"

"Better than I deserve," Gwen said, leaning against the back of the sofa, reaching out to thread her fingers through Ianto's hair. He didn't stir at her touch, too worn out to notice or to care, maybe. She rubbed at his scalp with her fingertips. "Do you mind if I--"

"Not at all." Jack set the laptop aside, glancing up at her from his position on the floor as she sat herself on the armrest, one arm slung over the back of the couch for balance, the other stroking Ianto's hair. One of Ianto's feet had escaped the blanket -- it dangled into free space by Jack's ear. "He needs a haircut," Jack added, watching Gwen's hand.

"Mmm," Gwen said, quietly. "Driving him crazy, is it?"

"Every time he caught sight of his reflection today, and there's a lot of reflective surfaces in a hospital, he'd--" Jack laughed, softly. "Apparently his hair hasn't been that long since he was a teenager. And he does not look back on those days fondly." He studied Ianto's face for a few moments, lost in thought. "I told him I'd cut it for him. Somehow, I don't think he's quite convinced yet."

Gwen blinked at Jack, her fingers still absently toying with Ianto's hair. He had lovely hair, really -- it was soft, nearly as fine as Eddie's, but thicker than she'd thought at first. Almost seemed a shame to cut it. "Can't say I blame him. You, a hairdresser?"

Jack's offended glare wasn't quite up to standards, but it was getting there. "You know, I've been around a little bit. I've picked up a few things."

"I'm sure you have," Gwen murmured, then flushed when she realized what she'd said. But then Jack laughed, and it set her off, and there they both were, on their opposite ends of the sofa, laughing their heads off. Gwen stifled hers as best she could, not wanting to wake Ianto; she could see Jack down at the other end doing the same. Rather than calming her down, it only made her laugh harder. "Oh God..." she sighed, when she could finally breath. "God. I missed you."

"I missed you, too." All the laughter was gone from Jack's face, like dousing a light. "I missed..." He waved his hand, encompassing the cluttered room, the artifacts crammed onto the shelves, the beaded curtain and the kitchen beyond it, coffee cups on the tables, Ianto asleep on the sofa in borrowed clothes, with some old auntie's afghan draped over him, Gwen stroking Ianto's hair. Change the lighting up a bit, add a bit more chrome, and it could have been just another night at the Hub, the three of them huddled together against an increasingly threatening world. Their family. "I missed all of this."

Gwen watched him for a good long time, just watched. She and Ianto had talked about it a few times, after Owen and Tosh and Jack's brother and everything: when would Jack give up and bugger off again? Would he come back or stay gone? What would they do in the meantime? Ianto'd been sure Jack would leave for good, but then he had that same thing Jack did, that unrelenting certainty that everyone would leave him, in the end. "It missed you," she said, and stood up. "Welcome home, Jack."

She bent down to kiss the top of Ianto's head before leaving the room.

*

> [the MAN wraps his arm around the WOMAN in the red dress's throat. he holds her before him as a sort of human shield. they leave the room.
> 
> the WOMAN in red returns some time later. she looks directly at the camera, then leaves again.
> 
> the MAN does not return.]

*

Ianto's strangled cry pulled her out of a deep sleep, into the hallway, and halfway to the sofa before she was awake enough to know what she was doing. Behind her, she could hear Andy stumbling out of the bedroom he'd been kipping in, and she held out one hand to stop him.

Jack was on the sofa, Ianto's body curled around him. Ianto's face was buried in his shoulder; he was still talking, but Gwen could only catch fragments of it: "--started with the littlest finger and you were _smiling_ , oh God, even when they... And I knew they hadn't caught you but I... the screen, I couldn't... needed the color, needed _something_ , but it... not strong, not like you, I can't..."

Gwen took half a step forward, but Jack looked at her then, just looked at her, and she stepped back into the shadows of the hallway as Jack tapped morse code into the back of Ianto's neck, crooned soothing nonsense into his ear, petted and soothed and rocked him until Ianto was only crying in his arms. Then Andy took her hand, and she squeezed his tightly, and they watched until finally, Ianto lifted his head a little bit, resting his cheek against Jack's, and said, "It's real, isn't it? The ship. It's real. It happened."

"Yes," Jack said. "I'm so sorry."

"Jack, I can't-- I don't know how to-- It _hurts_."

Gwen couldn't hear what Jack said next; it didn't matter. She and Andy had already seen more than they needed to see. She turned on her heel, tiptoeing back to her room; his hand still held tightly in hers, Andy had no choice but to follow.

*

> File: VALIANT FILES
> 
> Report: UNKNOWN VIDEOTAPE (transcript) (cont'd)
> 
> [CAPTAIN JACK HARKNESS enters with UNIT GUARDS. the GUARDS begin to search the room. they open the cupboards, look under the bed. HARKNESS does not join them. he stands in the center of the room, staring at the screen in the corner.
> 
> HARKNESS pulls out his weapon.
> 
> he shoots the screen.
> 
> then he turns, looks directly into the security camera, and shoots that as well.
> 
> footage ends here.]

*

Gwen wasn't particularly surprised the next morning to emerge from her little bedroom and find both Jack and Ianto asleep on the sofa, Ianto clutched tightly to Jack's chest, clinging to his shirt. What did surprise her was how comforting she found it.

She paused for just a moment, just to pull the afghan up over Ianto's shoulders a bit more, and went in to start the coffee.

Once the coffee was going, she pulled her phone out, flipped it open, thought for a bit. Thing was, she'd about reached the limit of what she could do for Jack and Ianto. And Rhys needed her, Edward needed her, back home in Cardiff. And yes, UNIT was taking care of the worst that would come through the Rift, but she'd heard enough from Andy to know that they weren't exactly handling everything. There were still the Weevils to deal with, and Flat Holm, too. It was still the 21st century, and things were still changing. And Torchwood wasn't ready. Not yet. Maybe it was time to think about rebuilding. She reckoned that Jack and Ianto would stay on in Glasgow for a bit, get themselves in order. But they'd be wanting to come back at some point. Maybe she should start thinking about giving them something to come back to.

Then the bead curtain was rattling, and Ianto was coming into the kitchen, sleep-rumpled and his eyes puffy from crying, but the tiniest of hopeful smiles on his face when he looked at her, and Gwen slid the mobile back into her pocket.

There would be time for thinking, for rebuilding, for worrying about everything that needed worrying about. For now, Ianto was whole and alive, and she wanted to enjoy that for a bit.


	6. Give the Devil His Due

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we come back, stronger than ever.

Gwen leaned back from her computer station, stretching and rubbing her eyes. Mainframe had somehow survived the explosion; judging by what she knew of Torchwood's history, Gwen half thought that there was nothing Mainframe _couldn't_ survive. Still, it had taken her ages to get the new computers interfaced. If it hadn't been for Jack's contact in Detroit (arrogant git, but something of a technological savant), it might not have happened at all.

Still, the swirling background was back on her monitor, and that was something to celebrate.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Gwen couldn't stop herself tensing a bit, even though she felt reasonably certain as to who had entered the Hub. "Took you long enough," she said, without turning around. "Checked in with the Time Agency then, have you?"

John just laughed. "Time Agency's gone, Gwen. I was never working for them."

Gwen spun her chair around, looking up at him. The red coat was back, as was the cocksure arrogance. "But you said --"

" _Jack_ was working for the Time Agency." John's smirk widened. "Well. One of them was. Mine, not yours. _You_ know. But I was just... monitoring the situation for an interested party."

"Who?" Gwen felt a bit stupid as soon as the question had left her mouth; as if John would ever give her a straight answer.

"Someone with a vested interest in keeping the universe from imploding," John said. He shrugged. "Which I suppose hardly narrows it down."

Gwen frowned, thinking it over. There had been an awful lot of blue police boxes in Glasgow. And that man with the bow tie, the one from her dream, hadn't she seen him at the Indian takeaway? And if anyone would want to make sure that Jack met his Doctor, well--

She smiled, and John smiled back at her. "I know _that_ look," he said. "You've got it all figured out then, have you? Who I was working for, what our motives were, what I'm doing now..."

She just shrugged. "Suppose it doesn't matter, really, as long as it's done," she said, and turned back to her computer. "Although if you've finished monitoring things for your 'interested party,' there's still that job offer to think about."

John leaned on her workstation, leering down at her. "Can't get enough of me, can you? The two of us, working together, close quarters..." Gwen glared at him, and he laughed. "I'm still contemplating it. Thought I'd look up Andy later, see if he could help me make my mind up one way or the other."

"Watch it now," Gwen warned.

John held up his hands, a mocking surrender. "He's safe with me, Gwen. Anyway, the boy's an excellent shot. Got a keen eye, and a good--"

"That's enough of that."

John laughed again. "Anyway, I just came round to give you this." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a fragment of paving stone, attached to a string. She took it, bemused. "Found it after... well. In the rubble. Perception filter still worked, so I kept it handy. Certainly kept the Project confused; they never did manage to break the effect."

Gwen turned the bit of stone over in her hands. "This is from the invisible lift?"

"It's a bit late to set it in the foundation or... you know, the cornerstone or whatever, but still. Thought you might like to have it."

"I do," Gwen said, quietly. The swirling background of her computer screen blurred before her eyes. "I do like it."

John's hand settled on her shoulder.. "About that job offer... I reckon you could use an extra set of hands," he said, quietly. "At least until Jack and Ianto come home."

"A trial period," Gwen suggested.

"Or just getting the design sorted out, stop this place looking as dreadful as the last one did," John said. "Really, you have to admit, it was awful. Like I said, sewer chic."

Gwen's eyes turned from her monitor to scan the rest of the Hub -- the scaffolding that supported the crumbling upper levels, the plywood that blocked off access to the now-ruined archives, the blackened hole where the water tower had once stood. She'd managed to get some help from UNIT -- Jayne, who she'd met at Glasgow Royal, had pulled together a crew of engineers for her, and was currently commandeering enough tech to provide the basis for a new Rift Manipulator, but it was never as much as she needed. Sometimes the work seemed so immense, too much for her to even think that she could ever get it done. No matter how much help she had, it was never enough.

John's hand tightened on her shoulder. "Trust me," he said. "We'll bring it back, Gwen."

And, for no apparent reason, Gwen thought maybe she did trust him. A little bit, anyway.

"We'll see," she said. "I'm not working in a French bordello, mind."

"Oh, but you'd be good at it." Gwen glared up at him, and he backed away, grinning. "Right. I'm off to find ex-PC Davidson, then. Don't wait up for us; I plan on keeping him out very, very late."

"I've already given him permission to shoot you," Gwen called after him. His laughter echoed through the vast emptiness of the Hub, fading away as he slipped through the plastic sheeting covering the gaping holes that had once been doors, back up towards the Plass.

Gwen looked back at her computer, at the picture of Tosh and Owen that she'd reprinted and taped to the corner of the monitor. It helped, having them here with her. She touched it with one finger. "Right," she said, quietly. "Back to work, then."

_Here's to absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the Season of Mists, and may each and every one of us always give the Devil his due._

_\-- Hob Gadling_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had such mixed emotions about this fic over the years, and I'm not really sure why. Looking back now, a decade later, there are definitely a few things I might have done differently, but there's always those things, and they're so small! In this moment, I am very glad to be reposting this fic. I am very proud of it (God, the research that went into some of these things), and I think it's actually really solid and I did some pretty cool things plot-wise. I post this now with no cringe left, just love.
> 
> Also, for the record, I do have a version of what happened to Ianto on the Valiant written. I'm still making my mind up about posting that one, though, and I might edit a little. Just 'cause it's real dark. Like, this is dark. That one's darker. 
> 
> (There's also a tiny Torchwood: Detroit reference at the end there, which is a whole other can of regrets. Might move the one fic I ever posted from that one over, too, as a curiosity if nothing else. Might edit it. We'll see.)


End file.
